because the truth is, it's funny

.


(Happy Valentine's Day, my friends. In light of this holiday celebrating the grand fall into love, let's talk about another kind of falling, shall we?)



I have never liked The Three Stooges. They irritate me to no end and remind me of Sunday afternoons when I was a little girl. We'd come home after church and everyone in the family would take a nap except for me because I was afraid I'd miss something - which is very silly, considering the fact that EVERYONE WAS ASLEEP, but nevertheless, I wouldn't sleep and instead I'd watch television. Let me tell you something about antenna television programming for Sunday afternoons in early 1980's Southern California: sports, F-Troop, and The Three Stooges. Sometimes when I was really lucky I'd find a movie on, something from the 1960's with Doris Day. I was SUPER EXCITED when I found a movie. F-Troop and The Three Stooges made me want to die.



So anyway: I don't like The Three Stooges. But they do get something right: falling is funny.



Because what I do like, what I secretly love, is seeing someone take a nice juicy ass-over-tea kettle SPILL. Not necessarily The Three Stooges falling (or the violence, it just sets my teeth on edge), but a wonderful unplanned fall? Is priceless. It's probably why Chip and I spent more time than I ever care to document watching MXC when we were first married. And Wipeout? Very entertaining television. I especially love seeing a good fall during a sporting event, the kind when no one gets permanently damaged, of course, except maybe their dignity. I love a good dignity-bruising.



The public, live, in-person witnessed spill is better than all of the above, combined, times 20. Even though I can't rewind it repeatedly like I can on the DVR at home (what a shame). I love the pinwheeling arms, the total loss of control, and especially - oh most especially when the spill-er thinks they can salvage some sense of respect by pretending that it never happened. That there is the stuff of legend.



I am not a graceful person by any standard. I fall. I stumble. I trip. And I do it on a fairly regular basis. The best part about my frequent stumbles is the faulty wiring in my head, which somehow prevents me from taking the regular precautions that any other normal person would do. Case in point: when we first got married, we were living in a tiny three-story apartment, so small that it was one room per floor. We hung out on the stairs a lot. It made us feel like we had a spacious mountain range right inside our abode. One luxury we did have was a stacked washer/dryer, right there on the third floor landing (our bedroom, way up in the tree tops it was). Because space was at a premium, we got really squirrely with storage. In the case of the laundry area, we kept the detergent perched way up there on top of the (already tall) washer/dryer. One day I was taking a stack of dishes down from the bedroom to the kitchen/living room (2nd floor). I was, of course, walking by the washer/dryer. For some reason still unknown to me, I happened to... sort of look up? As I was walking by the washer? And somehow, also still unknown to me, this looking up and walking by the washer coincided with an actual dollop of Tide detergent falling directly into my EYE. The PAIN, OH THE PAIN THEREOF. For the pain was a great and terrible pain. A pain of stinging detergent awfulness. OUCH. But remember, I was also carrying a stack of dishes. Anyone else with a lick of sense would THROW THE DISHES DOWN, down down DOWN in order to wash their eyes out and prevent PERMANENT BLINDNESS. But me? Little Whimsy? You know what I do? I hold on to those dishes, I hold on to them for all I'm worth as I stand at the top of the stairs and try to bump my way, blindly (BECAUSE MY EYES ARE CLOSED, OF COURSE) to the bathroom.



This is when Chip came up the stairs, pulled the dishes from my deathgrip, and helped me regain my eyesight. Later he reminded me that any normal person would abandon whatever was in their hands to prevent blindness.



He has since reminded me of that same fact when I'm in the process of falling down. Because I've also been known to fall flat on my face (or hip or hands or bum) instead of dropping whatever is in my hands. True story.



But my absolute favorite falling down story is from my pre-married days. I was living in a tiny apartment and working downtown. I took a bus to and from work every day. A very packed bus. One night I was sitting toward the front of the bus and so happened to be one of the first ones off at my stop. As I was walking down the stairs of the bus, carrying my work bag, wearing a skirt and stockings and tall boots, my foot caught on the last stair and I went flying - literally flying forward to land bum-in-air, directly on my knees. Saying just that is still not clear, now I flew--- flew out the doors of the bus, catching a nice two feet of air to land on my knees. There was no skidding, no slow slide into pavement. Just me. A solid thud of knee bones on pavement. And this: about twenty other bus commuters still unloading themselves from the bus, stepping around me, walking home, and ignoring me altogether.



After 30 seconds of stunned immovability, I did my best to stand up and walk home (still carrying my bag, which hadn't even touched the ground).



Awesome.



When I got home, I assessed the damage. Stockings were shredded, my boots carried twin trails of blood down their fronts. I stood in the bathtub and washed blood and gravel down the drain. I still carry matching scars on both of my knees.



Now it's your turn. Tell me your favorite falling down experience, yours or one you witnessed.