Well it finally happened. All winter I have successfully stayed afloat. Close calls have happened. A slip, a slide, but somehow my spidery senses were able to keep me from falling down on the ice. Last night I was walking out of the coffee shop and without any kind of notice I fell flat on my butt, elbow scraped, head ricocheting against the solid ice.
I tell you, the city is entirely encrusted with ice. Not smooth, ice skating quality ice either. It’s rough and bumpy. Remnants of tire treads sculpt the landscape. And if ground is exposed below the layers of sheer ice, it’s usually a pot hole peeking through. I’m just saying its rough terrain.
Now, I have pride for my ability to escape close calls. Sure I might look like an idiot as I slip on the ice, but at least I save myself the fall. Not this time. Nope. I went down so fast I was flat on the ground before my internal dialogue could finish saying, “I’m slipping.”
So, there I am lying in the middle of this alleyway for a second trying to get my bearings. My head and butt were competing for first place in pain when these two guys I know came walking up and began to sing Simon & Garfunkel’s song, Slip Sliding Away, right over my prostrated body.
Yeah. I love this town.