This is SERIOUS. My kiddos are on fall break and they were spending the night out with friends the other night. I was home all alone. Normally, I would scream “PARTY TIME” and have a slumber party all to myself with wine and Dr. Phil on my DVR. However, this particular dark eve, I tripped over a stupid rug and took 18 million tumbling steps towards the floor. It’s only because the stairs were within my reach that I was able to stop myself and not face-plant-french-kiss the floor. I swear my left big toe and left thumb were broken in my descent. Don’t worry, I’m an amazing typist and can suffer the loss of one thumb pretty well. Don’t know how I’d fare with the loss of both thumbs, but that’s besides the point. The fact is that I was home alone. All alone. What if I did face-plant? Now begs the question: If a mom falls in the house and no one is around, does she really fall?
Everyone knows I’m a klutz. It’s the 8th wonder of the world that I’m alive today despite my daily, unintentional self-abuse. Not a day goes by that I don’t find a fresh bruise on my body. My clumsiness is as natural as breathing. The other night, however, I panicked. My tripping was lightning fast – warp speed. No lie! The moment I was able to regain stability, a tear swelled in my eye. My heart was beating so loudly, the stupid dogs were barking at me.
What if I fell? There was no one here to rescue me. Fine, the dogs were here. Guess what they would do. They’d sniff at me and then lick my face and my feet. Max would pee on me because we all know he’s a P.O.S. (piece of sh*t). Lily, a dog we’re sitting, would force her huge noggin under my arm demanding to be petted. I trust that Bert, my favorite of all my children (er, I mean, my dogs) would die right beside me of a broken heart.
My poor orphaned (human) children would come home to find me sprawled out on the floor next to the stairs. I’m sure I’d fall in such a way that my head would butt against the door and the girls would barely be able to get inside without forcefully pushing my dead, cold body aside. Their first thought would be, “Oh mom. How sad. You danced all night to Dave Matthews and passed out from exhaustion, didn’t you?” I’m in love with Dave Matthews but more on that later. They’d be correct but they would also be dead wrong – pun intended. In actuality, that night, I was dancing all night to Muse and not my beloved Dave. I haven’t been able to stop singing their songs since I reminded myself of “Madness” and posted about it the other day. They are musical geniuses and deserve to be rocked out to all night long. I didn’t dance ’til I dropped. I simply fell and maybe I was dancing at the exact moment I fell but who cares? Ok, fine! I was sexy dancing. It’s the law that one must sexy dance when rocking out to Muse, especially to “Madness.” I can’t be blamed. No, I won’t be blamed.
Now I’m dead and the girls have come home to discover me. Since I’m dead, I can’t talk, but my facial expression would say it all, “I’M DEAD GIRLS. I DIDN’T PARTY ‘TIL I DROPPED. I JUST DROPPED. FLAT ON THE FLOOR. I TRIPPED and now have earned a Darwin Award for being such an imbecile.” (Ooooo, I like awards).
Save a few bruises and possible broken bones, I survived. No Darwin Award today. Although, I openly admit that a Darwin Award may be in my future. Probably because I was sexy dancing.