I am a klutz

01Jul08

…If you didn’t know. And I know everyone says they are klutzy, that they can’t walk straight in heels or dance without clumsily stepping on their partner’s toes, but really people – I have you beat. I am the girl who was known as “the one who falls” my entire senior year of field hockey. And it was true – once I ran toward the ball with no one around me and tripped, face-planting into the ground, having literally gotten tangled up in my own feet. I was the girl who was legitemately concerned about nose-diving into the football field on graduation day – probably the most significant day of my life thus far (I didn’t, by the way, somehow dodged that bullet). I am the girl whose boyfriend is constantly picking her up off the floor, while still perplexed at the notion that “you move and something undesirable happens.”

Well folks, this afternoon I proved myself no different than this characteristic that has latched onto me oh-so-becomingly. It was about 6:15 and I was, as usual, racing to catch the train I prefer to take home every evening – the earlier the better, I figure, even if I have speedwalk/run/knock people over to do it. And usually I’m relatively graceful about it. But oh, not today. I’m sauntering quickly across 6th and Broadway – which, in my defense, is unsually gravely – and in about 2 seconds find myself transitioning from running upright to literally smacking my face on the pavement. In a dress.

Yes, dear reader, everyone going home from their respective Midtown offices today got a nice full-on view on my underwear. And not for a like a split second when the wind accidently blows up your skirt. We’re talking, like, at least 5 seconds of complete visibility of my entire underwear-ed ass. I cringe to think of the lucky cabbies stopped at that light today.

After I managed to pull myself up, disgusted and self-loathing, I tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. A woman calls after me – “God bless you!” –  as if only by the grace of God must someone as unitentionally destructive as me go on living everyday.  I’ll admit, although I’ve built up quite the embarassament tolerance over the years, my head hung a little lower the rest of the way back to Penn Station. My knees and palms bled the scarlet color of humiliation and with every step I winced.

But I damn sure made that train. And gratefully accepted some alcohol swabs a woman with pity on her face offered me. They burned like hell. I hope I made her day. Sigh.

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Tags: bleeding, embarrasment, klutzy, New York, pain