Monday, January 11, 2010

Watch It Or I'll Go All Alpo On Yo A**!!

So I stop at the store to get food for the Fur Beast that lives in my house. Food is the one thing that rocks his world and I never want to be in the position to find out what happens should we ever run out. We were down to the scraplins in the bottom of the bucket. I didn't want the maintenance man to get a complaint about the funny smell coming from my house and have to break in only to find me missing and Bentley gnawing on a bone that still had a New Balance sneaker attached to it, so off I went.

I didn't go to store where I usually go to get it. It's cheaper there, but it takes a lot of psyching up and mental fortitude on my part to actually go in there. Usually the briefest of visits, having to plod along behind the cattle to get my hair spray or whatever, makes me absolutely hate my fellow humans and besides, the crashing sound from all of the falling prices scares me. Instead, I stopped at the one with the bulls-eye logo and picked up two 5# bags to see us through for a spell while I worked up the Zen-like attitude I would need to go back to store # 1.

I was coming out of the store with the two dog food bags, each in it's own white plastic bag with handles, one in each hand, minding my own business, when it happened. I hit the only minuscule particle of ice on the whole darn sidewalk. Of course. Have you ever had one of those slow- motion-out-of-body experiences where you see the whole thing happening from above? Here's what I saw:

Me: Doing the light-freakin'-fantastic in one of those spectacular falls where you almost go down, but then you don't, but then you almost do....all the while swinging the two five pound bags of dog food in some strange kind a numb-chuck-come-windmill move that in itself should have wiped me out, but is strangely contributing enough centrifugal force to keep me upright.

The Lady To My Immediate Left: Thowing her hands over her head, ducking down and uttering the most slow motion, unGodl-iest, Psycho-In-The-Shower scream I have ever heard in my life.

The Gentleman To My Right And Slightly Ahead of Me Who Didn't See The Initial Slip, But Heard The Screamer: Turning around in time to catch the tail end of my interpretive dance, deciding that I was wielding some sort of terrorist kibble bomb, and doing some kind of Crouching-Tiger-Hidden-Dragon-Wire-Fu move that transported him half way across the parking lot without actually requiring him to touch the asphalt. Yes, ladies...chivalry is dead and gone. Gone in a whole lot less than 60 seconds as it turns ...and in Timberland work boots.

I finally regained my footing and composure, stopped flailing around like a dork, and just stood there taking stock of the situation. There was that moment of silence. You know the one where it feels like time stops completely. Then the Screamer starts giggling. Then I start giggling and before you know it we are both doubled over laughing like loons in that way you do when only seconds ago you were sure you were going to die but now it's all Okey-Dokey Thank You Very Much. We had just calmed down a little when I pointed out that He-Man had made it to his car without once looking back and we start in hooting all over again. (Incidently, the piece de resistance was getting the finger from him as he drove off. I'm so sorry my near demise ruined his day! )

Lessons learned?

  • Animal feed, when used incorrectly, can be interpreted as a weapon of mass destruction.
  • Work boots will get you there faster then the best running shoes in a foot race.

11 comments:

Terri Browne said...

Maybe you should stick to the 40 pound bags -- they might keep you stable! :) Love the new look of your blog!

YarnThrower said...

Laughing so hard that it's making my side hurt. I am SOOO glad that you didn't actually hit the pavement!!

MadCityMike said...

Truly a funny story.......although, I am sorry it was a true experience. Thankfully, you came out of it with only "well stretched arm muscles" and a new appreciation for the moves in the Cossack dance, whatever it is called.
Have you ever thought of making a career move into "Stand up Comedy"? ;)

dale-harriet said...

MadCityMike - it's called "Prezitsky", and that was exactly my thought! But no...we can't allow our MollyBee to take to the wicked stage, we needs her here, we does. MollyBee - oooh yeah. Oooooh yeah.

kmkat said...

As one with an enhanced affinity for gravity -- I tend to fall a lot -- I was reading with my heart in my throat. So glad you neither fell nor put out your back. Whew. And I LOVE that you and the screamer were overcome with the giggles. Screw the work boot guy, he just doesn't understand the comedy that is Life.

Elizabeth said...

OH you are truly our own local David Sedaris!

My last wipe-out on ice was not the slow-mo version you had, but rather, the time-compression variety. One second I was up; next thing I knew, I was down. No in between. No moment of awareness right before the hip hit the pavement. Just (snap) and I'm on the ground.

Cindy G said...

Brilliantly written. I must say I was truly worried for you. So glad it ended up in hysterical giggles, not the ER.

Kathy Kathy Kathy said...

"Heeeeelp me, I think I'm falling . . . down again
When I get that crazy feeling, I know I'm in trouble again."

Faith said...

Ouch ouch ouch! I'm glad you came through it OK - but whoa, the moments of anticipation and wondering whether your butt will meet the ice or if you'll regain true verticality can be looong.

DPUTiger said...

I think it's funny that Mr. Macho Man was so embarrassed by his cowardice that he felt the need to give you the finger on his way out. Moron.

Glad you didn't actually hit the pavement. And that Mr. Ben has enough food to get him through a few more days!

Lisa/knitnzu said...

OH-M-G Mz MollyBeez...

It would have been OH SO MUCH BETTER for Mr. Nice Guy if you still had flu symptoms and could have been spraying from both ends and hitting him as well as you flailed about.

I was just telling some friends about slipping on the ice after dancing all night some 25+ years ago, to come to in the bar's office with the bloody rag coming off my face and to find out the guy I'd been dancing with was a firefighter. He even brought me to the emergency room for stitches. But he wasn't a real nice guy, because he didn't bring me home, and I'm sure I was still, um, affected...