I Fall. A Lot.

So, I fell last night. Bang on my left knee. In public.

I was walking to meet a friend and I just went whooshhh, the biggest slip of my life (and there have been many).

You could say I glided along the pavement. A graceful glide that ended in an unpleasant bump. You might even say that it was damp, and that’s what did it. Except it wasn’t.

The fact is, I just seem to fall. A lot.

Up stairs.

Down stairs.

Getting into my car.

Getting out of my car.

In high heels.

In flat shoes.

I bump into corners.

I always whack my hands on things, accidentally of course.

I send glasses flying at cafés with one intense hand gesture.

I trip.

I stumble.

My elbows are weapons of mass destruction, especially in department stores.

If there is a gust of wind, my skirt is always the first one to fly up. Always.

I even, and this is the worst part, spill food on my clothes. Sometimes even drinks.

I spill. I overturn. I splash. Down the front of my dress. On the crease of my skirt. On the sleeve of my shirt.

I am the woman who breaks the heel off her shoes, by getting stuck in a crack on the footpath, or a gap in between some decking. It has happened three times. How? Simply by walking. Simply by stepping.

I am fine with it. I mean, despite the embarrassment from time to time. Despite the public horror. And the occasional physical pain.

It’s funny, because these accidents always happen at times when I’m feeling really fab. Really swish. Really important.

Like when I’m walking down Collins Street, having just purchased something of the material and pretty kind, wearing a great outfit, thinking I am freakin’ cool and bang – the strap on my tan heel breaks and I end up arse over tit. My purchases and the bags that house them have acted as somewhat of a buffer between the concrete and me more times than I care to tally up.

Or, when I am eating at a posh restaurant with posh colleagues and I’ve just made a great addition to conversation, and I’m thinking ‘hmm, I’m clever’ and splosh – flounder and pommes frittes dribbles down my lovely dress. Oh well, at least it matches the Jacquesson Grand Cru I accidentally sprinkled down there before.

I fear that it/I won’t change. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, these things just happen. There’s no real drama in it, except of course having to always expect the unexpected. That’s why I find it so hard carrying small handbags; where do all the bandaids and spare pantyhose and wipes and tissues and pins and cotton and spare shoes go?

I wish I were like you regular folk. Such small, pretty clutches you get to parade. I will always be in envy of women carrying small handbags. To me, they are the symbol of having everything sorted. Of having everything in order. Women who never trip up. Fall down. Splish, splash or splosh.

So, if you ever need to find me in public it won’t be terribly hard; I will be the gal drying her skirt under a bathroom hand dryer, hobbling on one heel, having just caught my hair in my handbag buckle, with a scratch on my knee and a swollen elbow.

You won’t miss me.


4 thoughts on “I Fall. A Lot.

  1. Nice to know that I am in good company.
    I don’t fall as much as I used to (except for a spectacular slip & slide in the car park recently where the cars are washed while you shop). Earlier this year, I turned up for Mothers day mass at my daughters school with my shirt inside out and I headed out shopping with the drycleaner tag on my winter coat ….Do I get embarrassed, no (although others seem to on my behalf), instead I have a good laugh at myself and carry on. You can tell a lot about a woman’s her style by how she handles a slip, a fall or a wardrobe malfunction.

  2. Wow! I just feel for you and I don’t know who you are accept for the way you’ve let your heart out in these posts.

    I often date women who have very similar experiences to yours. A part of me wonders if you are living in parallel universes and so simply can’t stay on top of the small stuff cause your focus/purpose is all the love and lite you bring into the world. I mean I can see why my wife who works with various types of survivors (cancer, sexual abuse, ritual) might be needed on multiple planes at one time; she’s helping to shift us forward faster as a species who live more fully from our hearts and spirits and less from out minds – sort of like what I’ve read here!

    And!! Today, right now I have another reason to celebrate my ADHD as I rush off to go work with a client who needs to be held in the “it’s possible” place. Gotta RUN!!! (the story of my life)

    Thanks for your words,


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