Just had to share a little incident with you all. An uplifting vignette from my week.
The other afternoon, I was feeling a bit smug and pleased with myself for having gotten a roast in the oven . . . a level of thinking ahead on the dinner plan that does not always happen. (When it does, I like to celebrate with a little quiet smugness.) Anyhow, dinnertime rolled around, the table was set, drinks were poured, and I pulled the roast out of the oven. Imagine the severe blow that my smugness received, when it turned out that the roast was not cooked through. (Long story, and you don’t want to hear about it, but it all came down to the fact that I didn’t have a pan with a lid and my little improvised solution threw off the cooking time.)
So. There we were. We had to resort to a quick fix of some sort, and there weren’t really any options floating around in the cupboards. But, happily, the kids had all gotten their report cards from school that day, and a fun little perk is that they get gift certificates to Arby’s based on how many “A”s they get. We had a few of those to cash in, so we decided to do that for dinner.
Off we all toddled to Arby’s. On the way there, my mother-in-law called and I was chatting with her on the phone as we walked in. Ben took the kids up to the counter to order, and I stood back a little to finish my conversation.
Interlude: I should have mentioned that we here in Idaho have heaps of snow and ice, and I was wearing my snow boots. Not ridiculous heels like I wear through the snow and ice every single day to teach, but actual, sensible, snow boots.
Anyway, there I stood in Arby’s, innocently talking on the phone. Standing, mind you, on the tile floor in sensible shoes – not walking or moving or gesturing or hopping or anything of the sort. Just standing still. And suddenly, out of the clear blue, with no warning whatsoever, both my feet shot straight out from under me. To this moment I have absolutely no idea why . . . wet boots on a wet tile floor still seems like a totally insufficient cause for something like that. For a moment I hung there in the air, doing a wildly ineffective Scooby-Doo run . . . and then nature took its course and I wiped out utterly flat on my back. Indeed. I did that. One minute I was calm, cool, collected, and vertical, having a nice chat . . . the next minute I was nothing more than a pitiful and confused damp splat on the Arby’s floor. For reals.
Not only did I do that, but I did that in the front of the restaurant with the entire staff standing there looking out at me while I did so. I am absolutely confident that they have already gotten the surveillance footage and put it up online somewhere. I’m probably already part of a medley called Fast Food Wipeouts set to an old Queen song. If any of you ever run across it, make sure you send me the link.