The Wounded Walkabout

Last Friday I was invited to go to the opera with my friend Joey.

Sounds innocent doesn’t it?  Fun?  Elegant?  Refined?

What I didn’t know at the time was that it was not going to be any of those things.  In fact, if I had known what was actually going to happen I would have crawled into the fetal position and hid in a dark room for the night.

That’s not overly dramatic, is it?

Joe and I spoke on Friday and agreed to meet at his place (about 45 minutes from mine) and then ride together to the Dart train station.  Mainly because rush hour traffic in Dallas on a Friday is a formidable foe and not to be tampered with.  We also chose this option because it would save us the hassle of having to find and pay for parking in downtown Dallas.  So, I arrived at Joe’s place on time and he had some emergency which meant I had to wait for him outside (since he lives in the swankiest apartment ever and couldn’t come let me in).  As I waited outside I took this picture:

I took this picture because I’ve been trying out black nail polish and wanted your opinion (am I too old / un-hip for this?) and because when you’re wearing a ring the size of a golf ball on your finger you want documentation.

After waiting outside in the wind (I’m not bitter), Joey finally came out and we were on our way. 

We made it to the Dart station and as we began walking towards the platform I started regretting my choice of footwear.  I had thought long and hard about what shoes I could wear that would be comfortable enough to walk in and still fancy enough for the opera.  Unfortunately I had made the absolute wrong decision.

Stepping off a curb my shoe got stuck in a hole and the top of my body moved forward but my feet decided they weren’t interested in that.  Have you ever fallen in slow motion? The world slowly fades away and all you can see is the pavement rushing up to meet you face-to-face.  As I was falling I literally thought, “this is going to ruin my night”. 

Let me just stop right here and tell you that I typically have a high pain tolerance (I’m not braggin’, I’m just sayin’) but this was a long way down and therefore painful. I managed to break the fall with my knee and hands instead of my face, but when I was finished falling I ended up being laid out on the pavement.  Even though Joe jumped to action trying to help (and trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh) I was so shocked I couldn’t even figure out how to stand up. 

I finally managed to pop up and my immediate reaction was to pretend that it had never happened.  I just thought “I’d like to pretend that no one saw that and that I didn’t do that and let’s never talk about this again”.  Unfortunately, Joe didn’t get the memo and proceeded to ask me “are you SURE you’re alright” every three minutes for the rest of the night.

Luckily I was wearing tights and they didn’t snag or anything so I managed to hide the evidence of my fall and soon I decided I was decent enough to move on.  After hobbling over to the Dart station we caught our train and we were on our way.

I was sitting on the train, trying to push away the bad thoughts of what happens when you walk on a twisted ankle and clap with a broken wrist, when Joey turned to me and said “don’t worry, the opera house isn’t far from the Dart station- I think it said 3 blocks, it might have said 3 miles but I’m pretty sure it said 3 blocks”.  I knew then that we were in serious trouble.  It’s understandable why Joe wouldn’t think to mention this to me before hand, boy shoes are always more comfortable than girl shoes plus 3 blocks isn’t that far to walk (normally, in normal shoes, when I haven’t recently broken all the important walking bones in my body).

I managed to survive the 3 blocks and we finally had the opera house in sight.

(Isn’t it beautiful?)

Anyway, we were steps away from where this picture was taken when… I fell again.

I kid you not.  I fell again.  This one only counts as a halfsie because I didn’t actually fall all the way down, I just tripped, dropped all of my belongings (my bag popped open and my lipstick rolled into the street) and grabbed onto Joe for dear life.  I decided that if I was going down again I was taking him with me.  Which, I think, was wise.  Especially since he later started pointing out every curb and stair to me for the rest of the night.

I seriously didn’t think it was possible but I managed to limp the rest of the way inside, shrug off the humiliation and watch the opera, which was beautiful.

Here’s (blurry) Joe, enjoying his $14 drink during intermission.

And (to make a long story even longer) when it was time to leave, my feet were hurting so badly that I was hobbling down the street back to the train.  Joe kept telling strangers “sorry, she’s just learning how to walk” to which I responded “I’m going to hurt you”.  At one point I asked him how much money it would take before he would give me a piggy back ride.  I think I heard him say that there wasn’t enough money in the world, but I’m not sure.

Finally, after walking from one end of the earth to the other, we made it to the Dart.  I eventually got home and checked out the damage to my knee… 

 

******Please turn away if you are sensitive to blindingly white legs.  Or scraped knees.  Thank you.********

 

You can’t even really tell this is my knee.  Partly because of all the swelling and partly because I cropped the begeezus out of this photo to save your computer screen and eyes from permanently turning white.

Anyway, this is one of the problems that led to a Saturday of recuperation and to this- the longest post in the history of the world.

So, after writing this epic post I am off to figure out how to walk again because, apparently, I’ve forgotten how.