Tuesday, January 7, 2014
So. This morning I had some errands to run after walking the dogs, then stopped in at my favorite coffee kiosk for Mocha Tuesday ($2.00 drinks). When I got home, I unloaded the car, opened the back door for the dogs, changed from my boots to my slippers, then shifting and juggling the mail, a small bag of groceries, my jacket and purse, and the 16 oz. cup of coffee, I begin to climb the two flights of stairs to the main floor.
Why was I doing this, you ask? Why didn't I just make two trips? Because I already go up and down these bloody stairs a least a dozen times a day; when I can avoid adding to the Stair Master experience, I will do it, no matter the struggle, hassle or overly full armload of stuff.
On the last step, my frigging slipper falls off my foot--don't have a clue how--throws me off balance, then my other foot slams into the stair riser and pitches me forward. I have no hands free to grab the rail, but by sheer effort almost regain my equilibrium. And then my purse slides off my shoulder.
It was like one of those movie scenes where the car is teetering on the cliff and just when the occupants think they're safe...the seagull lands on the hood. In my case it was the added weight of my purse swinging forward.
I fall to one knee, jarring my bones, but thinking whew that was close, when the small grocery bag--with a gallon of milk inside--bangs into my arm. My coffee flies--literally--straight up in the air then arcs across the room like it was catapulted from some diabolical war machine. Without thinking, I drop everything and lunge forward, arms outstretched to catch the paper cup before the chocolate/coffee/cream concoction hits my beige carpet.
My left leg tangles in my purse strap, my lunge turns into a face plant, and the coffee lands upside down on the carpet about five feet from my nose. My rug-burned nose. I laid on the floor, wasting a moment while my brain tried to process what has happened in the last ten seconds. Really. One minute I'm walking up the stairs anticipating my coffee, and the next I'm skinned from knee to nose and my coffee is glug glug glugging into the carpet.
Thankfully, the lid stayed on, though enough oozed out that it took me 15 minutes and three cloths to get the stain out, which wasn't just confined to the landing zone. Oh no. I had a nice arcing stream from the catapult launch to the landing. The air was scorched with my cursing, believe me.
I have a skinned knee--just like the many I used to have when I was a kid--and my nose looks like I could easily put Rudolph out of business. I won't know how the carpet fared until it dries.
Some days it's just exhausting being me...