I decided to do my part to aid the ailing economy today.  I was chauffeuring my mom to church this morning – happy in my own little world – when I heard her say, “Are you going to stop?!”  This, of course, brought me back down to reality.  But instead of breaking, like a rational human being, I panicked and gunned it.  Right through a fence. 

Really, if you think about it, it was rather impressive the efficiency with which I accomplished it all.  In a matter of seconds I managed to fly through the air, over a barrier, through a wooden fence, reverse, pull back into the parking spot, shut off my car, and start crying. 

Of course, I had to explain my plight to my friends.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: Who drives their car through a fence? Besides, you know, really old people.

Mom: You.

Kristi: Don’t feel bad, I’m sure a lot of people drive through fences – Francine, you’ve driven through a fence before, right?

Francine: [deer-in-the-headlights-look]

Mom: We’ll take that as a no. 

Kristi: Well, it wasn’t your fault, there should be barriers of some sort.

Mom: There is.

Jen: She ran over the barrier.

Kristi:  You did?

Me:  Flew right over the top. 

*sigh*

So now a family gets a new portion of fence; a friend will earn some business; the church will get some free writing; and some point down the road the auto body shop will have a new customer (they make cars so cheap nowadays – I mean really, you can’t even even drive through an old rickety fence?! C’MON!).  It’s a win-win really. 

But here’s the thing that gets me.  Just this morning I was perusing the paper when I caught sight of a headline regarding a car being driven into a storefront.  I didn’t even read the article; I just thought, “What an idiot!”  Yeah, well who’s the idiot now, my friend? Who’s the idiot now …

So here’s my question: What the?!!!

It’s not like comacazi fowl are unusual. Please. And theme parks?! Dangerous ground my friend, dangerous ground. I remember going to The Lagoon when I was young. There I was … sitting on a park bench with a friend … enjoying a snack or two … when I felt something plop-a-top my head. At first I thought it was a bird with gastric distress. But then I looked up. There they were.  Two boys.  Hovering well above my head they were laughing and pointing.  They thought they were hysterical–as boys so often do when they do something unbecoming, like spit on a girls head!  

Of course, as said girl, I can tell you boy spit was ten-times worse than bird poop could EVER be. I was ruined. Ruined.

Guess I should just be thankful that particular low-point did not make it on a list of historical events–at least none that I’m aware of …

I have a certain pair of sandals with a goofy wooden heel and absolutely no arch support.  To say they are tricky to walk in would be the understatement of the year; but they are so terribly cute and so I must.  Or so I thought until yesterday.

Yesterday I was wearing said shoes.  The clinic my mom works for is a sponsor of the Women’s Fitness Celebration and it was mum’s turn to man the booth.  Being the good daughter that I am, I offered to swing by and pick her up so she wouldn’t have to pay the approximate price of a small island to park. 

Being the lovely fall day that is was, I decided to detour through 8th Street Marketplace – meander about, do a bit of window shopping.  I had just checked to see how big my butt looked in the Urban Outfitters window when I realized something was terribly amiss.  That’s where things get a bit fuzzy…

All I know for sure is my ankle buckled … I struggled, I flailed, I yelled “S-ii-tt!” Only that’s not what I said. The next thing I knew I was on all fours, my purse flung to the ground in front of me.  Considering that a major event was going on directly across the street I was not lacking in spectators.  Like it wasn’t bad enough to be in such a position in the middle of a shopping district–but to be surrounded by people gaping in horror? 

You have GOT to be kidding me! 

Oh yes, I said it.  Out loud.  *sigh* 

Needless to say, from that point forward it was typical HRT (Humiliation Response Tactics):  I grabbed my purse, stood up, and limped off as if nothing had happened.  And I did it all while praying I would never again be forced to face the 100 or so faces that witnessed it all. I prayed all the more when I saw a cute guy on a bike, waiting for the light to change so he could cross the street.  Unfortunately, my prayers reached the pearly gates a bit too late; he snickered as he passed.  Wretched luck. 

Perhaps the worst part of all is the fact that the thought crossed my mind – several times actually – that I really should change my shoes before heading downtown.  But I brushed the thought away.  After all, they matched my outfit perfectly; they were cuter than ever; AND they were already on my feet.  Not to mention, I would ony be out for a short period of time.  If only I had paid heed.

The moral of the story is this: If God tells you to change your shoes before going out in public, change your shoes …