I Fall. A Lot.

So, I fell tonight.

Bang on my left knee. In public.

I was walking to meet a friend and I just went whooshhh, the biggest slip of my life (and there have been many).

You could say I just tripped. You might even say the slippery weather conditions had something to do with it.

I say it’s the fact that I just seem to fall. A lot. 

Up stairs.

Down stairs. 

Getting into my car. 

Getting out of my car. 

In high heels. 

In flats. 

I bump into corners. 

I always whack my hands on things, accidentally of course. 

I trip. 

I stumble. 

If there is a gust of wind, my skirt is always the first one to fly up. Always.

I even, and this is the worst part, spill food on my clothes. Sometimes even drinks.

Yes, like in restaurants and stuff. Down the front of my shirt. On the crease of my skirt.

I am the woman who loses her heels. It’s happened three times (and not with cheap shoes either). How? Simply by walking. They just seem to fall off. I am fine with it. I mean, despite the embarrassment from time to time. Despite the public horror. And the pain. 

It’s funny, because these accidents always happen at times when you’re feeling really great.

Like when you are walking down Collins Street, having just bought some new accessories, wearing a great outift, thinking you are freakin’ cool and bang-the strap on your tan wedge breaks and you end up a** over t**. 

Or when you are eating at a posh restaurant with posh friends and you’ve just made a great addition to conversation, and you’re thinking ‘hmm, I’m clever’ and splosh-flounder and pommes frittes dribbles down your lovely dress. Oh well, at least it matches the Jacquesson Grand Cru you sprinkled down there before.

I fear that it/I won’t change. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, these things just happen. There’s no real drama in it, except of course for always expecting the unexpected. That’s why I find it so hard carrying small handbags. Where do all the andaids/pantyhose/wipes/tissues/brush-ups/pins/cotton/spare shoes go? 

I wish I were like you regular folk. Such small, pretty clutches you get to parade.

If you ever need to find me in public I will be the gal drying her clothes at the bathroom hand dryer, hobbling on one heel, having just caught my hair in my necklace loop, with a scratch on my knee and a swollen elbow. You won’t miss me.

 Written by Sandi Tighello