- A scab on my big toe from when I got rear-ended last week. (Sidenote: No word yet from the kid in the Civic's insurance company, which means either he is very slow with the estimate-getting or my own agent was correct when she said Ms. Leadfoot behind me would have to pay for his damages. Let's hope for the latter. Whoo!)
- Three small red scars on my inner wrist and forearm from my bathroom-cleaning mishap.
- A rather persistent bruise on my right arm, of long-forgotten origin.
- A red scuff to the left of my lower lip--the remains of Monday's Lean Cuisine flatbread burn.
- And finally, the latest evidence of my undying poise: a bruise on my upper thigh and rug burns on my foot and thumb, acquired when I somehow fell out of my shoe on my way out of the office and lurched and stumbled all the way to the floor.
Luckily, I am absurdly busy at work at the moment, so when I made this graceless exit at 6:30 this evening, the office was nearly empty. Nearly. From two rooms away, I heard the owner of the company call out, "What was that??" To which I had to call back, "Oh nothing. Apparently I can no longer walk; therefore it is time for me to go home."
From two rooms further away, my own boss said, "Stef? Was that you??" Obviously I should have said, "No worries. This sort of thing happens all the time." Honestly, by this point it didn't even faze me. Of course I tripped on my own feet and hopped and skidded to the ground with a thud. Who here is really surprised about this by now?
I watched a movie last week in which Ione Skye claimed that what every woman is looking for is a man who makes her feel like the movie version of herself. I thought that was a charming and accurate sentiment. I just hope that when the right man finally comes along and meets Movie Me, what he sees is not a slapstick-prone Amanda Bynes.
On a related note, I hope this evening's fall has convinced my boss that I am not the most appropriate person to keep her company at our gym's new "Stiletto Strength" class after all. If I can fall and hurt myself while walking on carpet in Birkenstocks, should I really be exercising on a wood floor in heels?? I'm gonna go with NO on that.
Incidentally, the crazy stiletto class just further proves to me that the town where my office is located is the closest thing to Stars Hollow I've seen in real life. Can't you just see Miss Patty
standing in the doorway of her studio calling out instructions to a group of random townie women in sweats and heels? I sure can.