Once upon a time in a land far far away, located about a half hour from my house, I fell down at a funeral. . . while wearing a long, tightish dress. . . (wait, it gets better) while holding Number 1 Guy who was about 6 months old at that time.
|Funeral. . . wait, is that Matt Damon at the funeral?! I didn't even see him there that day!|
|long, tightish dress|
|Number 1 Guy|
The burial service had ended and everyone was slowly making their way back to their vehics. I was showing off my new beautiful, big brown-eyed baby boy to long-lost and not-so-long-lost relatives. (I may or may not be an attention whore, but that's another issue altogether.) Anyway, once the awwwwwwwing over my pretty bean had finished, we started making our way to our car. Our entourage glided across the fresh spring grass. . . ok, I'm gonna cut the bull shit right here. I was probably walking like I was on some sort of rocky mountainish terrain wearing 10 inch high heels which looks similar to all of the girls under the age of 30 walking around Vegas in heels after midnight. Don't forget, I have Fall Down Syndrome (self-diagnosed). I looked around and noticed van loads of cute, little and not-so-little grandpas and grannies gawking at us because what else is there to do when you're waiting for the assholes who parked at the front of the line to move their damn cars so everyone else can leave? You gawk at the assholes as they walk past and talk a bit of smack about them! That's what you do! Aaaaaaand that's what they did. Yep, you guessed it! We were the assholes and karma was about to bite mine!
Here's where the karma enters the story!
I was walking and noticing all of the people noticing me when all of a sudden, my foot fell into one of those invisible holes that hides just under the covering of grass. (Those bad boys will getcha every flippin' time! Even more so when you have the Fall Down Syndrome like I do!) Everything went in slow motion . . . foot hits hole. . . other foot steps forward. . . the earth reaches up and pulls my body and my baby towards it. . . my free hand flails in the air, reaching for anything to make it all stop. . . my other arm grips my baby tightly to my chest. . . realizing it's not going to stop, I flip my whole body over in midair like a fish flopping on dry land so I don't fall on my precious bean. . . my voice rushes over my tongue and teeth "OOOOOOOH MYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOODNEEEEEEEEESSSSSSS!" (I didn't swear much in those days. I was such a nice girl back then!). . . The entourage stops to see what the hell I'm yelling about but only as long as it took for them to realize I was no longer cool enough to be part of their little club which my husband happened to be the leader of. Apparently "cool" people don't have Fall Down Syndrome! HATERS! Anyway, as I hit the ground with a KERSHMACK the next horrifying thought entered my grey matter. How in the name of The Jonas Brothers was I going to get back up?!
This is where the story gets dicey!
Wearing a long, tightish denim dress (which, let's face it, is super freakin neat to do) is sort of like wrapping your whole lower half with duct tape. You may have had the same experience as a child when you go through the stage where you want everyone to tie you up. . . . and they wrap your legs together tightly and then walk away laughing as you stand there thinking, "How in the name of The Jonas Brothers am I going to get out of this?!" You take a step, then fall down and wallow around like a deformed, tipped over penguin until you find just the right position to get back on your feet or, worst case scenario, you end up having to grow up in a pile on your living room floor because you have really mean brothers and/or sisters who just laugh at your crazy wallowingness as they walk by all neat and pubescent. HATERS! Ok, back to me kershmacking the ground and realizing I'm totally screwed by my style choice that seemed like such a great idea that morning. I just laid there and laughed and laughed and laughed some more realizing how there is a possibility that I would end up raising my son right there in the cemetery if either A. Someone didn't come to help me up or B. I didn't have strong enough thighs to power through the handicapped dress situation. I heard moans of, "Oh my god" (because no one knew what OMG was back then) and "Don't look at her! Keep walking!" quietly thundered through the entourage. I realized I was going with option B because option A was clearly not an option with these people. I tucked my baby under my arm like a football and focused all of my attention and power into my thighs (which happen to be large and in charge thanks to some kickass genetics), and I did "The Count" which is the same "The Count" that your 8 year old self either did aloud or in your head before you jumped into the already twirling jump ropes at recess. I had the mental focus of Mr. Miyagi and the strength of the Karate Kid in that moment because I knew I was choosing life or death for my baby. Either I would power through and watch my son grow up NOT on the grass in the cemetery, or I would epically fail (I can say that cuz that's what the cool kids do) and squish him like a road pizza. (I know, that's not a very pretty picture but just go with it. It's super dramatic and there should be suspense filled music playing in the background right meow!) I rolled around like a deformed penguin until I found the perfect position to focus my whole being, my whole inner Karate Kid, into my monster thighs. Mr. Miyagi would not be there to guide me anymore. This was all me. Breath. . . breeeeeath. . . and "The Count". . . 1. . . twooooooo. . . two and a half. . . . two and three quarters. . . Ok too scared! Start over . . . yep, this was all me. . . 1. . . . 2. . . . . . . . . THREE!
This is the happy ending!
The clouds parted and the sun shown down as the electric power, the power of Mr. Miyagi's wisdom, shot through my body as I stood up. A guttural grunt poured out of my mouth which was almost the same sound that my nephew used to make when he was taking a fierce dump and everyone in the house knew it. Grrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww! I did it! I stood up while wearing a tightish, long denim dress WHILE holding my baby! That is just unheard of!! I may have looked like a deformed tipped over penguin, but I felt like a lioness who had just single handedly saved the life of her cub from a herd of starving hyenas. I strutted to the car like the asshole that I was having parked in the front of the line blocking my audience in which is actually similar to locking the doors and fire escapes while you're on stage performing. YOU WILL WATCH ME, AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!! (Insert evil laugh here) I learned a LOT of lessons that day. First, no one thinks a wallowing, tipped over, deformed penguin looks cool. Second, the only person you can count on in life is yourself, especially when you have deformed penguin moments. And finally, I am a total lioness, and my genetically large thighs are the shit, dawg! I have one final question for you. If I start a Fall Down Syndrome support group, would you be willing to join? You don't actually have to have Fall Down Syndrome to be a part of it. You just have to know someone who does. It's like aa and al anon mixed together! That sounds like a freakin blast if you ask me. . . which you didn't, but I thought I'd share anyway.