I awoke at the crack of Farmer Stewey needing to go outside to potty at the ridiculous hour of 4am and then finally decided to haul myself out of the big girl sleigh bed at 7. Aunt Chrissy and I had plans to run errands, so I threw on a fleece and some slippers and headed out to grab the paper for a quick run-through with my first Starbucks.
When I caught sight of the trash and recycling bins, I realized that I had forgotten to drag them to the curb, so I grabbed the big ass blue recycling bin and started down the driveway with my pajamas flapping in the breeze. I turned and started back up the driveway to gather the trash bin, when WHOOSH!! my legs decided to go right, while the rest of me decided to go left.
Down I went into the cold four and half inches of ice water, slush and driveway salt.
Fortunately I am extremely well-padded so after a quick look around, I bounced back up, brushed myself off, and breathed a sigh of relief that nobody seemed to be the wiser that I had just landed slightly to the left of my big fat fanny in a puddle of muck.
A normal person would have immediately gone back inside to hide in shame (and change out of her soaking wet and frozen pajams), but this is me we're talking about.
I headed back into the garage to grab the trash can and was doing well enough getting it to the curb when my entire lower body catapulted itself eighteen feet up into the air in front of me and I landed. Hard On. The. Top. Of. My. Pointy. Little. Head.
It knocked me out cold, I'm sorry to report, because when I came to, I was flat on my back in the middle of the fours and a half inches of ice water, horrified that I had just broken my neck because I was too damn lazy to drag the freakin garbage can to the curb the night before.
This time I didn't look around to see if anybody saw me -- probably because my glasses had flown off my face and I couldn't see anything more than six inches in front of my face. So I stumbled inside, collapsed onto the laundry room floor and had a good long cry.
(Stewey, of course, was soundly asleep in the big girl sleigh bed the entire time this was happening.)
Once I calmed myself down enough to stand, I called Aunt Chrissy, who gently walked me through an emergency triage of questions..."Are you bleeding?...Is anything broken?...Is your vision blurred or are you in any pain?...etc etc etc." We decided that a call to 9-1-1 wasn't warranted, so I took a deep breath, pulled on my eighteen year old sweatpants, and got on with it.
Today is...interesting. The lemon-sized lump that had been on my head is now a perky little golf ball, and as long as I don't have to move, I'm feeling pretty good. A few Tylenol and a vat of dietCoke later, and I'm sure I'll be back to normal (or as close to normal as this particular spinster can get) soon.
(*) What's the five words, you ask? In a lovely font, I'd like my tombstone to say: IT WASN'T EASY BEING ME.