Presently, I look like an S&M enthusiast. (Not that I know what one would look like, um...just saying. AHEM.)
On Monday I fell about six feet into a puddle of mud. I was climbing into my husband's truck, which is parked in the driveway the base has never bothered to fix and thus is always filled with water and mud, when my muddy foot slipped on the running board.
It all happened in slow motion. Since I was holding things in my hands, I actually attempted to get them settled before I hit the ground. Because, you know, I handful of catalogs and my daughter's softball gear are worth taking a plunge for. Half of it ended up in the passenger seat and I threw half of it beyond the mud onto the grass.
While I was distributing the books and softball gear I was carrying, I also managed to have one very clear though.
God, I hope no one is watching me.
During my slow motion fall, some instinct told me to land hip first. Might as well take the impact where I have the most padding. So while my ass took most of the fall, I still landed hard on the whole left side of my body.
And then I said to no one in particular, "You've got to be kidding me," as I jumped right up into a standing position.
I stood there for a moment to see if anyone was going to come running to my rescue. I listened to see if anyone was laughing. And then I ran to the house to change my clothes.
I had mud in my shoes. I had mud in my underwear. I had mud everywhere!
I hurt quite a bit that day, but I managed to get through softball practice by ignoring the pain. But since then, I have been aching like an old woman. Or a youngish women who landed on her ass in the mud. Even my bones hurt.
Today my bruises have turned a spectacular shade of purple. And my husband thinks it's fun to keep pretending to smack my butt. He's going to have some spectacular purple bruises of his own if he doesn't stop.
The moral of the story? Girls shouldn't drive pick-up trucks. Or something like that.