Tenth Musee

I have a history of falling; stairs, floors, ladders… you name it, I’ve probably fallen from or off of it.  Over the years, I’ve developed a minor fear of falling because of this — not enough to keep me from doing things, but enough to occasionally make me bust a few tears when I do fall because it scares me so badly.

When I was about 6 years old, my younger cousin and I were playing in front of my house where there were 20 wide cement stairs that led all the way down to the sidewalk.  About halfway down, for whatever reason, my cousin shoved me and I fell to the bottom, twisting my left ankle beneath me.

When I was 11, I had a not-very-nice nanny/housekeeper who threw me down some stairs.  That was fun.

When I was 16, while working as a courtesy clerk at Vons, a local grocery store, I slipped on a soapy meat department floor while cleaning it and landed flat on my back, hitting my head and knocking myself unconscious. Oh, and I twisted my same ankle under one of those big rolling meat racks.

When I was 17, at the same grocery store I worked at, I fell down about 6 stairs in the back room while stopping by to get my paycheck on my off-day.  The heel on my shoe caught in the hem of my pants and I toppled head-first down the stairs, busting my left kneecap and again, spraining my left ankle.

When I was 22, I fell off a leaning ladder about 4 feet to the ground.  The rung underneath my right foot was faulty and it fell right off the ladder.

Just last year I fell in the parking lot of Home Depot in the rain, wearing a skirt and pulled a Britney on a table-full of workmen eating hot dogs. Good times!

And most recently, last night, as I was carrying a plant out to my front porch, greeting GFI for our evening beer chat in the front yard.  With my back to the stairs and a houseplant in my right hand, my left foot slipped and off I went!  I started to fall backwards and tried to grab the railing, missed, then tried again as I fell backwards down 3 stairs.  I finally managed to get a hold of it, but, it doesn’t end there, no….

I couldn’t seem to get my footing, so I kept falling and my whole body swung to the left, still holding on to the railing with my left hand for dear life. I let go when I realized I was going to fall forward anyway, so I could put my hands up and protect my head.  I toppled head-first down one more landing, hitting full force on my left side, primarily my shoulder and hip, about an inch from cracking my skull on this big decorative rock we have out there.  During all of this, somehow, I smashed my netherbits “Funniest Home Videos”-style against the last cement step I fell down (I’m still not entirely sure how. I’ve tried to figure it out and can’t.) and skidding a little… enough for me to note in my head as I landed, “That’s going to leave road rash.”

Poor GFI was standing there with her beer in one hand, smokes in the other, staring at me going “Oh my god!  Oh my god, Jo-Jo!  Are you ok? That was like slow-motion!” (Yes, she calls me Jo-Jo. You may not.) “What hurts? What’s broken?!” My response?  Basically, it was “Ow, my vagina!”

In hindsight, that’s pretty damn funny.

Anyway, so she kvetches and freaks out. I kvetch and freak out.  We discuss how I almost smashed my head on the rock and are amazed that I didn’t come away with more injuries.  After I hosed off the dirt and had a beer, I felt better.  I’m stiff and my neck is jacked up pretty badly. I think I mildly sprained my left wrist. There are a few scratches down my forearm and what I think are going to be some really delicious bruises down the left side of my body, but overall, I’m alright.

Note to those who dare have a relationship with me: If I say I’m falling for you, there’s a good chance I mean that literally.