Trip

The McPolack women are not handling gravity so well lately.

Friday I was on my way back from the gym, scone in hand, ready to take the cross-parking-lot shortcut back to my apartment when I came upon the Jersey barrier that skirts it. Rather than go around it as I normally would, I coolly went step right over it, whilst imagining I was in that commercial for skinny jeans where "Walk the Line" plays.

Will I never learn that every time I try to achieve coolness I am soundly bitch-slapped by the universe?

Instead of stepping over the Jb, I caught my sneaker on it, and somehow managed to fold myself in half. I flailed there for a minute or two, be-shorted ass in the air, cottage cheesy thighs exposed to the world, because I couldn't figure out how to right myself without losing my scone. And there was no way I was going to drop my scone.

Now I have some rather impressive purple-blue bruises on both my legs.

Meanwhile, in Vermont, Dr. Moo had a momentary lapse of sanity, noticing while she was walking in a cow barn that all the cows seemed to be slipping and not thinking much of it until she herself slipped and face-planted directly into the udder of the cow in front of her.