My Ever Loving Mind
I walked, hard, into a parking meter last night.
There's an apartment on Somerset Street where the main character of my book lives, on the north side of the street, and when I was walking by it, I slowed to take in whatever details I could but kept inching forward.
And off course. Because I turned around too late to avoid the parking meter, which, I will have you know, is placed at the exact right height to hit someone who is 5'8" in her boots directly in the right tit.
I hit it hard enough that my arms went out and kind of around it, like I might give it a big ol' smooch. I hit it hard enough that it made a loud noise, like spppproooooingggggg and I made a loud noise, like huuuuuuuf.
And then we both went our separate ways, though I could not stand up straight for a half block because I was laughing too hard in fits and hysterical giggles and besides, holding my boob.
Last night, after throwing (not literally, of course) my friend into a cab to the train station, I walked backwards to as he was driving away and landed butt-first into one of the new garbage cans on Bank street.
I don't know if this affects a woman of your 5'8" stature very much (in comparison to me at 5'3"), but you should watch out for those garbage cans too. Tricky things, those are.
I'm having a flashback to separate encounters with a telephone pole and the tail end of a station wagon. Made some lovely goose eggs on my head. And a more recent, ah, encounter: my hand and a Robie Street sidewalk. Wham. I suspect I am channeling Wile E. Coyote.
That Wile E. is definitely from the maladroit branch of the species. Not a good doggie to channel, even if he weren't a cartoon...
i am so glad i read this.
t: Ha! I will keep my eye on those things.
Heather: Telephone poles are even nastier than parking meters, I gather. And I have to agree with Coyote!
Shelley: Anything to brighten your day, my dear!