Continuing on with my promise to write about subjects you suggested, the next post is from avid commenter Abbie who wrote “OH! Falling down in public gets my vote!” Well. Here you go.

It is a well known fact among close friends and family members that I have trouble with simple tasks. Tasks that most people don’t think twice about. Tasks like making it through a doorway on your first try, instead of whacking a limb or your head into a wall first. Easy things, you know, like walking and standing upright without toppling over.

This predicament was ten times worse during my adolescent years as my body stretched and I tried to figure out how to control it. But I must say, I had trouble before then and I still have trouble now. Most of the time, it’s just me, being awkward. Other times, things happen that are out of my control, say, getting on a moving treadmill.

When I read Abbie’s request in the comments, I was worried that I wouldn’t have anything to write about. I mean, I could delve into my memories and come up with some gems–the time I slipped down an escalator and landed at the bottom on a subway platform with a ton of people staring at me, waiting for the train. Or the numerous times I’ve had poor spacial judgment while driving and turned my car into a fire hydrant or another car or a concrete median. WHAT COULD I WRITE ABOUT? WHAT COULD I SAY?

I need not have worried because sure enough, the universe came through. On Monday, the day before I left for Los Angeles, I left work to run an errand and grab some lunch. Everything was in place for me to have a completely spastic experience–the weather was clear, no rain. I was wearing flat shoes without a hint of a heel and it was during lunch time where everyone could see me make a fool out of myself.

All was right with the world leading up to my mishap. The sun was shining, the weather was warmer than it had been in days, I was headed towards Hale & Hearty for a DELICIOUS LUNCH, etc. I realized that I had been daydreaming about my soup for too many blocks and that I needed to cross to the other side of the street to get where I was going. Just like thousands of New Yorkers on any given day, I stepped off the curb onto Park Avenue in an attempt to cross. And just like no other New Yorker ever, my perfectly flat-heeled foot stepped down on some perfectly normal looking pavement and I abruptly fell forward, breaking the fall with my knees and palms.

I crouched there for a moment as shooting pain erupted in my knee because, OF COURSE, I wasn’t wearing pants, just a skirt with stockings which means I essentially fell on my bare knee. I was less concerned with the knee and more concerned with my beautiful gray tights which seem to be bad luck. I already ripped the first pair I bought RIGHT BEFORE going into an audition a few weeks before. And now the second pair was destroyed as well. A tiny hole was stretching bigger and bigger and now BOTH PAIRS were goners. WHY GOD? WHY??

As I was bemoaning the loss of my beloved tights, the man at the kabab stand behind me leaned down and got right in my personal space which, if you’ve never been in that position, is rather startling. His turban cast a shadow over my upturned my face as he eagerly searched my eyes.

“YOU OKAY?!?!!??!?!?”

“Yes, I’m fine, just stupid.”

“YOU FALL DOWN.”

“Yes.”

“WE ALL WATCH YOU FALL.”

“I…thank you. Great.”

At this point of course, I looked behind me at the long line of New Yorkers waiting to buy some kababs. All men. All in business suits. All pretending not to stare at me.

I thought I’d at least get a free lunch out of the deal but kabab dude wasn’t having it. He helped me up and went back to serving his hungry customers. I sat on the curb and picked the gravel out of my palms. I didn’t get to check on the damaged knees until I was safely locked in a bathroom stall at work. After rolling down the ruined gray tights, I was able to witness the carnage: skin hanging off both of my knees and drops of blood everywhere. Though not as ghastly as I thought it would be.

I have a nice yellow and green bruise going on at this point as the wounds are healing. I’m no longer limping but I do look like a seven year-old kid who fell off her bicycle. I can’t tell you the last time I fell down and scraped my knees; I feel silly but also not really surprised. I am 25, with long limbs like a muppet and honestly? Sometimes things get the way of them functioning properly. Things like curbs and paved streets and walking. SIGH.