Call Me Grace
I was thirty minutes late leaving the house to head back to work after lunch today. I'd just hoovered my Wendy's side salad like a champ - yesterday I fairly leaped off the diet bandwagon and devoured both a Round Table personal pan pizza at lunch and a Totinos combination sausage/pepperoni pizza for dinner all by my own bad self, and once the glorious golden afterglow of gluttony waned I felt the need to get back to the diet until I've made it somewhere down under my original mini-goal, roughly nineteen pounds from where I am now. (Although, somewhat perversely, I actually lost a pound between yesterday and today - go figure.)
Anyhow, I normally eat a salad for both lunch and dinner (in addition to an entree), and I always get salad stuck between the same two teeth; today was no exception. Although I felt really good in both mood and body as I locked my door and turned to head downstairs, I found myself annoyed - I hate having salad stuck between my teeth, so as I started down that top flight of stairs I transferred the cooler holding my afternoon snack, my water bottle and my purse (complete with spare binky holder attached!) to my left hand and proceeded to use the long fingernail on my middle right finger to begin the not-unpainful process of desalading my back molars.
I was about midway down when it happened: my inherent laziness took notice of the fact that my attention was fixated somewhere other than where I was stepping, and it took advantage of my lapse. It sent the message to my right foot that I didn't really need to lift all the way off the floor in order to get to the next stair down; I'd still get to where I was going regardless of the logistics involved, right? My right foot obeyed that silent call and slid forward and down rather than lifting and lowering as all good feet should do in stairwells, managing in the process to snag my two-inch boot heel on the step I'd just chosen to vacate. My heel snagged, caught, held, and down I went....
I landed in a near-kneeling position, one leg down/one leg up as though I were proposing a life-long commitment to the wall in front of me holding a lunch-pail out in supplication instead of a ring, a wall that I'd barely missed in my head-long flight, a wall that seemed singularly unimpressed with the fact that I had just fallen down a flight of stairs and landed without dropping a single thing, fingernail still lodged squarely between my two back molars and not a single hair out of place (although one might attribute that particular feat to the copious amounts of hairspray I used this morning instead of any sort of natural grace that may have been observed during my heady downward plunge).
The unfortunately-wedged bit of salad that had caused all of the trouble in the first place came loose from my teeth as I knelt there, eventually ending up poised delicately on the edge of my lip after unceremoniously dropping onto my tongue and making its way around the entire mouthal arena before deciding that here -here!- was the place to be. I blinked and cleared it away with the tip of my tongue, swallowing without bothering to chew because, you know, been there/done that, fell down the stairs for my efforts in correcting the situation, and then I stood up, tested both ankles by rolling gently on my boots, realized that the only pain I felt was located somewhere in the region of my ego, so I checked to make sure there were no dust trails on my shiny new black pants and turned smartly to the left to continue down the next flight of stairs as though nothing untoward had happened on the previous leg of my journey to the great and rain-filled out of doors that we are experiencing today.
That, right there, is a demonstration of how my entire week has gone thus far.
Truly.
Anyhow, I normally eat a salad for both lunch and dinner (in addition to an entree), and I always get salad stuck between the same two teeth; today was no exception. Although I felt really good in both mood and body as I locked my door and turned to head downstairs, I found myself annoyed - I hate having salad stuck between my teeth, so as I started down that top flight of stairs I transferred the cooler holding my afternoon snack, my water bottle and my purse (complete with spare binky holder attached!) to my left hand and proceeded to use the long fingernail on my middle right finger to begin the not-unpainful process of desalading my back molars.
I was about midway down when it happened: my inherent laziness took notice of the fact that my attention was fixated somewhere other than where I was stepping, and it took advantage of my lapse. It sent the message to my right foot that I didn't really need to lift all the way off the floor in order to get to the next stair down; I'd still get to where I was going regardless of the logistics involved, right? My right foot obeyed that silent call and slid forward and down rather than lifting and lowering as all good feet should do in stairwells, managing in the process to snag my two-inch boot heel on the step I'd just chosen to vacate. My heel snagged, caught, held, and down I went....
I landed in a near-kneeling position, one leg down/one leg up as though I were proposing a life-long commitment to the wall in front of me holding a lunch-pail out in supplication instead of a ring, a wall that I'd barely missed in my head-long flight, a wall that seemed singularly unimpressed with the fact that I had just fallen down a flight of stairs and landed without dropping a single thing, fingernail still lodged squarely between my two back molars and not a single hair out of place (although one might attribute that particular feat to the copious amounts of hairspray I used this morning instead of any sort of natural grace that may have been observed during my heady downward plunge).
The unfortunately-wedged bit of salad that had caused all of the trouble in the first place came loose from my teeth as I knelt there, eventually ending up poised delicately on the edge of my lip after unceremoniously dropping onto my tongue and making its way around the entire mouthal arena before deciding that here -here!- was the place to be. I blinked and cleared it away with the tip of my tongue, swallowing without bothering to chew because, you know, been there/done that, fell down the stairs for my efforts in correcting the situation, and then I stood up, tested both ankles by rolling gently on my boots, realized that the only pain I felt was located somewhere in the region of my ego, so I checked to make sure there were no dust trails on my shiny new black pants and turned smartly to the left to continue down the next flight of stairs as though nothing untoward had happened on the previous leg of my journey to the great and rain-filled out of doors that we are experiencing today.
That, right there, is a demonstration of how my entire week has gone thus far.
Truly.