I’ve decided I need to start wearing a helmet. And possibly body armor. Because I fall more often than I’d like. I’m not joking. I fall down boom more than the average bear.
Just last night for instance. I fell. Chase has this naughty little habit of “attacking” the BDD when she exits the house (it’s a dominance thing, no worries). I managed to stay three steps ahead of BDD, shooing Chase in the process and then BOOM!, I’m lying on the deck. I have no idea why, but I’m shocked by this.
And then I hear, from a distance, “You OK?” I start looking around. Crap. I’m hearing voices. “You OK?” It’s the neighbor man, two doors down on the left, that I still haven’t met [after living here for three years]. The people with the really pretty deck and red umbrellas that party all summer and send yummy smells of grilled food wafting into our yard. Why don’t we know these people? Hello? They cookout all. the. time. I look up and nod, “Yep. I’m OK.”
And I’m mortified. Thanks for asking.
I wasn’t hurt. My wrist was throbbing from landing on it and I now have a red spot on my foot I’m declaring as deck burn. But I can determine by how red my cheeks were, my ego was flushed down the toilet. I am not happy with this dog.
The BDD. Do NOT let that face fool you. We should have named her Dozer.
Unfortunately, this is not the first time this has happened. With the BDD. She swiped my leg out from under me last spring. Luckily, I was in the grass and made out with just a small grass stain. I would have been especially irked if I had landed in dog poo. Who am I kidding, I probably would have cried while I tried to wash my pants and hold my nose at the same time.
I manage to fall without the help of the BDD though. Imagine that.
I was roller skating at work on concrete floors in a familiar place and decided to show off my mad skating skillz. So Miss Susan (not PodMate… yes, we have two Susans… it gets confusing for them) throws her long gam up on a column and I proceed to duck down to skate under it. But I chicken out. And instead of avoiding the stunt set-up, I fell flat on my ass.
I always thought I had enough cushion back there. But on concrete floors, it does not matter how big your tookus is. My behind felt nothing the rest of the afternoon except for a searing sting. I somehow jacked up my tailbone. Everyone said “You should go to the doctor.” Well I did my homework (thank you WebMD) and it said that one of two things would happen: 1) get an X-ray and send me home with pain meds or 2) stick a finger up my rear and send me home with pain meds. Since you can’t do anything to help a tailbone, it just has to heal on its own, I figured it wasn’t worth the co-pay or the violation. Me and Advil became best friends.
And I told everyone that asked about it that I was training for the Roller Derby. That seemed way cooler.
I bought an air donut. Because the hubs and I were going on a trip. To Germany. With eight hours of flight travel. Great. And then we took the scenic route in a car, following the Rhine, from Dusseldorf to Munchen. By the time we got home, the donut was busted. And my rear still ached. It hurt to sit for weeks. It hurt to even sit up in the bed for a few more weeks. It was bad. I hated it.
So a helmet may have not have helped in that situation but it would have at Slugger Field. Slipped my sorry flip flop on wet concrete [full story here]. Banged my skull on wet concrete. That was traumatic. Especially with it being a work function, HR seeing the whole thing and then me proceeding to constantly weep and proclaim “I’m a pussy” over and over again. Bet the CEO got a kick out of that. If I had a helmet, crisis [and complete utter embarrassment] would have been averted.
When we walked out of the rain and into Home Depot this past Friday night, the hubs laughed at me as I dragged my sandals heavily across the rug. I had to make sure every droplet of dew was off my shoes. Because that place is nothing but a sea of concrete. He wouldn’t be laughing if I’d fallen though. He probably would have panicked. Like I did. And start worrying that I was dying. Like I did. (What? It was BAD and I still have a bump on my head. At least it’s not the size of Nebraska any more. More like Rhode Island… or Boston… if there’s a difference.)
I trip, stumble and stagger over everything. Dog bones, dresser drawers, tables, walls… and I think I need to make an investment. The sad part is the hubs agrees. He said he’d help me pick one out this evening. He gets no points for agreeing with me on this one though.
Since I’m pondering the idea of wearing a helmet 24/7, I tried to think of some other positive things it could do for me. Because, let’s be honest here, normal people do not wear helmets unless they’re playing a contact sport. So what benefits would I get out of it other than keeping heady injuries at bay?
- I wouldn’t ever really need styling products ever again as my hair would never see the light of day.
- That being said, I’d never have a bad hair day.
- And it would take less time for me to get ready in the morning.
- If it was blue, it would bring out my eyes.
- On days that I don’t want to wear makeup, I could attach a visor like LaDainian Tomlinson’s helmet.
- Visor would refrain me from ever needing sunglasses again.
- Built-in speakers – I could dance my way into walls and still be safe.
- With limited perifial vision, I could hire a chauffeur and I’d never have to worry about parking again.
- I could ignore everyone around me and blame it on the helmet.
- Bedazzle. Nuf said.
- I wouldn’t have to talk on the phone any more. I try to avoid it if possible even now. But there is bluetooth…
- My neck would be super strong having to support the extra weight. But still slim and feminine.
- I could do Darth Vader impressions with more ease: Luuuke *inhale…exhale*, I ammm *inhale…exhale* yooour fah-thah.
- Would be prepared for impromptu bike rides. Or riding horses. If I rode horses. Or playing golf.
- I’d have a reason to be grumpy without having to explain myself. A helmet’s pretty self-explanatory, no?