That’s the noise that echoed through my head when I fell yesterday. Square on my ass. The “bam” was so loud you would have thought Emril was in my back pocket. No such luck. The only thing in the back of my jeans was butt and fuzz.

So I was in the gutter, like a sober, living Edgar Allen Poe, lying on my back and praying to Santa that nobody saw me. I don’t believe they did. I figure I would have heard some combination of concern and laughter, but alas, the sidewalk was empty.

I was walking out of a mailbox place, having just shipped some last minute gifts that were short of use and full of thought when my foot found a patch of ice. Before I knew it I was ass down on the concrete. My entire body was spread over the frozen walk and pain shot through it in waves that could only be surfed by the embarrassment that I was feeling.

What the hell was ice doing on a sidewalk in SoCal during the middle of the day? Turns out that it was about 45 degrees and, while sunny, that portion of the walk, specifically right next to the tree that was apparently watered overnight, had yet to leave the comforts of shade. Hence, it was still frozen. Hence, my Steve Maddens giving me a zero chance of maintaining any semblance of balance.

Now I’m bruised. My side, leg and ass area are a light shade of brown and purple. They are tender to the touch. Despite this, I was more concerned about what could have been.

Normally I would be leaving said mailbox place with a baby in my arms, or two for that matter. That could have been very not funny. I could have taken a knock to the head. I could have been pregnant or old(er). That said I sucked it up and went back inside and came clean about my spill so that the ice in question could be thawed before it spread into blood and lawsuits. They were kind enough to save their snickers until I left the building.

The irony of course is that I had to go home and put ice on the spots that ice hurt.

I don’t want you, dear reader, to feel this pain, so here is my public service announcement: watch where you’re fucking going.

Also, don’t water plants on a sidewalk when it is 25 degrees out. I suppose that should have been the point of this post. Oh well, points are for squares.

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