One of Those Days

Once again, this wouldn't be my life if it weren't funny.

You guys have heard me talk about my Sarc enough to know that it makes me clumsy sometimes, right? And I've told you how I have less than great eyesight. I am near- and far-sighted. I use my reading glasses more than I use my distance glasses for driving, but I pretty much can't see details either way without concentrating.

So on top of being a klutz and poor-sighted, I also have self-acquired Attention Deficit Disorder. And what I mean is that my ADD comes from mental laziness more than from the neuro-Sarc. I'm a daydreamer and I just don't always pay full attention to things.

Now keep all this in mind when I tell you that it was no one's fault but my own when I came this close to sliding under a half-ton pick-up truck the other day.

I had to make a quick run up to a convenience store. Just needed one loaf of bread and didn't want to fight the crowds at the grocery store. Of course, I am too vain to just do the wrap-a-coat-over-the-pjs thing. (My roommate does that all the time and I tell her that she's going to regret it when she meets someone special or important while she's looking ratty.) I don't like to go out anywhere without brushing my teeth, combing my hair and putting on at least some good Chapstick.

And, ladies, understand that I don't do this to impress the guys as much as I do it for you. I hate nothing worse than looking like crap when I run into another woman who looks like she's got it all pulled together. The only sleepwear I will wear in public has "Pink" written on it. Yes, I love my Victoria's Secret type lounge-wear ("type" could be Victoria's Stepsister off the rack at Walmart. Cute does not have to be expensive).

So anyway, I brush my teeth, tame the hair (oh boy) and gloss the lips. I tug on my cutest boots - which are not so ice-friendly but, what the heck, I'm just going from car to store and back. I'd tested the boots on our sanded lot at the apartment. And did I mention that they are really cute boots.

The boots were the first mistake.

Like always, I turn on the music in the car. Now, here's the thing: when I listen to music, I kind of go to that special place in my imagination. It's the place where I can sing well and I give concerts to imaginary fans, chair-dancing included. (Don't worry. I don't do the dancing thing while the car is in motion. That's just for stop lights and parking spaces.)

The music was the second mistake.

I get to the store, park and sit in the car until "No Parking on the Dance Floor" finishes. I'm shy about a lot of things, but I have no inhibition about singing and dancing in my car. Everybody wants to. I just happen to not care who sees me doing it.

So there I am, just killing it to the last little bit of the song.

This is a classic dance jam.

Just when the song was finishing, I noticed a big and beautiful shining monster of a blue truck pull into the space next to mine. I'm still doing my little shoulder-groove thing while I'm getting out of the car - because I can still kind of hear the music in my head.

The guy getting out of the truck is watching me and kind of smiling to himself because - I don't know, I'm the crazy-cool lady jamming down to sounds in her head? Or maybe he's just so damn happy to be driving that gorgeous vehicle? Anyway, as I go to step out of the car, I don't notice that the lot hasn't been salted or sanded. Also, I forgot that I was wearing my too-cute but not-safe-for-the-ice boots. I do the girly car exit (legs together, swivel and stand) still bopping away to my head-music and-

While it was in no way graceful, I bet skaters would kill to pull off the move I did. Everything seemed to be happening in slow-motion.

As I went into an immediate slide, I grabbed the door of my car. That only made things worse because I kind of whipped around and pulled the door out toward me.

Truck Guy came to the rescue. He caught me just as I was about to do an inspection of the underside of his ride. I ended up with my face planted in his underarm while my feet were doing this Scooby-Doo slip-slide-run thing. I felt like this went on forever, but I guess it only lasted a few seconds. Finally, I was standing upright but unable to move without sliding again.

Truck Guy was a gentleman. I know this because, even though I could feel him shaking with laughter, he kept a straight face while he asked if I was okay. I mean, he didn't even crack half a smile. That's control.

Of course I wasn't okay. I was embarrassed and I think I got whiplash in my ass.

Worst of all? There was a woman in Truck Guy's vehicle. He was polite about not cracking up but that bitch was laughing so hard she was about to give herself a hernia.

Truck Guy sort of toddler-walked me into the store and he even waited while I paid for my bread. He practically carried me back to my car. God bless that man, whoever he is... I'm sure that he and old girl entertained all their friends with that story. I know she did. That heifer.

Peace
--Free