Just in case there was any doubt of my clumsiness
I just fell at Speedway. The gas station. I fell at the gas station. Here's how it went down:
I, being the genius that you all know and love, decided that putting my socks back on and tying shoelaces was much too strenuous an activity. Oh, the countless seconds it would shave off of my life! So, flip-flops were the obvious answer. Yes. And a hoodie. Because it's cold and rainy.
I proceeded to my car, stopping on the way to inquire about the shenanigans my brother and his friends were up to in the garage (we'll get to that another day.), turned the ignition, and proceeded to Speedway for a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade so that I might run a few laps on the treadmill and quiet that little voice in my head that's been screeching, "faaaaataaaaaaass!" for the past three weeks that I haven't ran. Don't judge me! I see you eating those leftover Cadbury eggs, buddy!
I opened the door for a chubby, elderly couple and set my first soggy, foam-soled foot into the fine establishment known as Speedway. Step two? Fine. Step three? Textbook. Step four? Not so great. You see, step four was the first step during which my foot was not on carpet. This was my downfall. Literally.
My left foot swung out from under me and I suddenly found myself sitting on the floor in some sort of Elvis stage sliding split maneuver.
But wait. It gets better!
The woman at the counter then shouted to me, "Oh my god! Are you okay?"
And do you know what I did? Do you know what I did?!
I leapt to my feet, threw both arms in the air as if I'd just landed a spectacular gymnastic jump and shouted (to the woman at the counter as well as a few understandably creeped-out customers), "YES! I'M OKAY! I JUST DID THE SPLITS!"
WHAT?
-Katie
I, being the genius that you all know and love, decided that putting my socks back on and tying shoelaces was much too strenuous an activity. Oh, the countless seconds it would shave off of my life! So, flip-flops were the obvious answer. Yes. And a hoodie. Because it's cold and rainy.
I proceeded to my car, stopping on the way to inquire about the shenanigans my brother and his friends were up to in the garage (we'll get to that another day.), turned the ignition, and proceeded to Speedway for a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade so that I might run a few laps on the treadmill and quiet that little voice in my head that's been screeching, "faaaaataaaaaaass!" for the past three weeks that I haven't ran. Don't judge me! I see you eating those leftover Cadbury eggs, buddy!
I opened the door for a chubby, elderly couple and set my first soggy, foam-soled foot into the fine establishment known as Speedway. Step two? Fine. Step three? Textbook. Step four? Not so great. You see, step four was the first step during which my foot was not on carpet. This was my downfall. Literally.
My left foot swung out from under me and I suddenly found myself sitting on the floor in some sort of Elvis stage sliding split maneuver.
But wait. It gets better!
The woman at the counter then shouted to me, "Oh my god! Are you okay?"
And do you know what I did? Do you know what I did?!
I leapt to my feet, threw both arms in the air as if I'd just landed a spectacular gymnastic jump and shouted (to the woman at the counter as well as a few understandably creeped-out customers), "YES! I'M OKAY! I JUST DID THE SPLITS!"
WHAT?
-Katie