So there I was at the park for this amazing throw-together cookout (and by cookout, I mean pounds of chicken and carne asada, stuffed chilis, peppers and onions, tortillas- thanks Erin and Ty, hands down the best grill food I’ve ever eaten) when out of the blue, it began to rain. All day it had been 75 and sunny, so it caught us by surprise. I thought about running out to the car to roll up my windows, but it was just a passing sprinkle, and, let’s be honest, I was just too lazy. Ten seconds later, though, it began to really pour, and loads of Burmese kids were running into the pavilion. Since my car was really just down the street, I decided to roll up the windows. I stuffed a giant piece of chicken in my mouth (as if my body would not have been able to survive the ten second trip to the car and back without food), grabbed my keys and ran through the pavilion toward my car.
Necessary background information: I knew only 3 people at this cookout, out of about 10. The attendees were Erin and her fiance, Tyler, their brothers and sisters, roommates and best friends. I did not shave my little wintery legs before the cookout because it was thrown impulsively, it was the first warm day of the year, I had been out all day in capris, and honestly, didn’t really care to change.
So, I ran through the pavilion towards my car, rounded the last picnic table, and, in slow motion, my ankle- the same ankle I killed all the ligaments in during that terrible basketball game my junior year and had to wear a boot on for 4 months, the same ankle I turned falling down the stairs at the Boys and Girls club just after my car accident, the same ankle I tripped on hours earlier in the parking lot- gave out. I fell to the side instantly, but the running propelled me forward and I did a flying face plant on the marbled concrete, sliding all the way to the edge of the pavilion. I laid on my face for a few seconds, realizing I was in serious trouble, and tried not to cry.
I was sure everyone had seen it and was rushing my way, or maybe at least they were laughing, so after a minute or two of rolling around on the concrete I sat up and peeked up over all the picnic tables ready and willing to laugh at myself, and then get some help to the Redimed. But they were all just sitting around the table talking and eating. No one had even seen me, except the group of Burmese kids who couldn’t speak English, but were definitely laughing and pointing and re-enacting the fall. I tried to stand up, but sat back down, which is when Tyler’s cute friend saw me, and asked why I was sitting on the floor. I stood up and tried to play it cool, limping back to the table, where he made me a bag of ice and placed it on my hairy leg.
I spent the next 40 minutes trying my best to converse normally (while inside screaming) and skipped the group trip to the port-a-potty, even though I had to pee like a mother, because I knew I couldn’t walk there and I was embarrassed. Finally, I was like, “Well guys, I think I’m gonna go… I’m just really tired,” and then I drove with my left foot to the Redimed. They had to do 3 sets of x-rays because it was so swollen and covered in scar tissue, and sent me home in an ankle boot.
The lesson here, kids, is this: 10 pounds of Mexican food, 3 beers, rain, picnic tables and concrete floors are hazardous combinations. Slips, trips and falls can happen to anyone, but be sure to make sure someone sees you and that you always have freshly shaven legs. Roll up your windows in advance anticipation of pop-up rain storms. And, according to my doctors, wear high-tops.