Whoopsie-Daisy!

Last night at Beef & Boards Dinner Theatre, working job #3 as Assistant House Manager, I FELL in front of an entire theatre full of 390 people. I know there were that many people there, because I counted them.

It's funny for many reasons, not the least of which is that I've been thinking about my many falling humiliations lately, as evidenced by my little "About Me" epigraph over there to the right.

I wrote that while remembering last year, when I was hugely pregnant with Charlotte, and I had just purchased some Hostess Donut Gems (delicious, waxy-chocolate variety) at the gas station, and couldn't wait until I got in the car to dig in, so I ripped open the wrapper as I walked to the car, and right as I jammed one in my mouth, another fell out of the package and started rolling across the pavement, and I was so damn desperate not to lose ONE SINGLE DONUT GEM that I lunged after it, and my off-kilter pregnant center of gravity caused me to lurch foreward and sprawl ridiculously on the ground, and NOT ONE SINGLE GAS-PUMPING ASSHOLE moved a muscle to help the poor, starving-for-doughnuts, pregnant lady.

I also like to remember the time in 6th grade when I was waiting for the school bus in the middle of winter, and when it got there and I stepped up to get on, I instead slipped on the icy curb and slid completely under the bus like I was on the luge.

So last night, I was feeling all confident and full of bravado, as I get when I'm finessing a huge group of amenable Hoosier senior citizens, and I was larking around the theatre, which is constructed in 5 successive tiers of tables, flirting with the old guys and chatting cutely with their wives, and flattering the groups of red-hat women, and cozying up to the grandmas who'd brought their little grand-daughters wearing poodle skirts and ponytails in honor of the show, "Grease," when I received a request from the wonderful quadriplegic guy who's been coming for years to tell his server he wanted another rum & Coke. So I went jauntily frisking up the stairs to give the server a heads up, and I was feeling all adorable in my sassily professional black pants, and black and silver, vertically-striped, nicely-tailored shirt, and my pointy-pointy black high-heeled boots, and then? right at the top of the stairs, in full view of everyone?

I took a dive.

I face-planted specTACularly, to the hearty, appreciative laughter of the rowdy over-50 girls-night-out women, and all the Mexican busser guys in the vicinity.

OhmygodIthoughtIwasgoingtodie.

For the rest of the night, Raoul and Andres and Julio and Lazaro and Francisco and Henry wouldn't stop talking about me in really fast Spanish, and chuckling, and asking me if I was ok.

Sigh. My knee hurts.

I dedicate this entry to my lovely bestest friend in the whole wide world, Jenny, who, since we were in 5th grade, has been LOVING all of my humiliating stumbles, to the extent that, when she's present for these events, which is eerily often, she cannot possibly even consider helping me up, or mitigating my embarrassment in any way, because of the insane laughter that overtakes her, body and soul.

This one's for you, Jenny. Happy birthday!