I fell down. Yup. Right on my buttocks. At my age, most would assume I couldn’t get up. The hostess in the restaurant was visibly concerned. I could see “Don’t Sue Us” all over her rosy cheeks (her face cheeks).
Mr. Wonderful just assumed it was due to my stilettos in the rain when I texted him. Well, guess what? I was barefoot. I respect my shoes, especially new hot ones that I just paid for. Not wanting to get them wet, I made the decision to carry them in one hand and hold my umbrella with the other. I made it through several puddles up to the front door of the establishment. I opened the door, and down I went. The cement hit me from below, and I could swear I bounced a couple of times. Not fun. Well, I did get up, and I learned a lesson: when you think you’re home free, maybe you’re not:)
If I had been 25 or 30, no one would have flinched. But at my tender age (the one I was to celebrate over nachos with my friend), people automatically panic. I did.
The good news: great nachos. Only thing missing was a Margarita. Unfortunately, I make it a practice not to drink before noon. My birthday lunch was fun, and as it was a gift from my friend, I especially savored every crunch.
The after-dinner pain set in, and I was sure I would be plagued with back pain the rest of my days (which I have chosen not to count). This morning, I am 97% better, so I guess I’m out of the woods. Another bullet dodged.
Do you ever wonder how many bullets each of us gets? Do we all get the same amount? If you are a mean girl, do you get less? If you are a clergy person, do you get more? No clue. All I know is, I’ve used up a hellava lot of them, and I pray there are several more in reserve somewhere.
After watching the tragic morning news, ready to celebrate my 71st birthday, I thank the Big Guy for the gifts of good health, the comfort of friends, and the crunch of a good nacho.