My favourite fitness instructor once commented on how graceful I was. Ha! If she only knew...
I started things off with a bang by falling down the stairs in my baby walker – twice. In my parents' defence, I learned how to open the door to the basement in between incidents. These walkers are now illegal in Canada, thank goodness.
My first fall that I remember was when I was eight. I got in a fight with my friend Brendan in my driveway and stormed into the house. In a bizarre preview of teenage girl logic, I dressed up in the amazing outfit you see below (I'm at the bottom) and came prancing out past Brendan, nose stuck in the air. Unfortunately the dress and heels (!) I was wearing were not child-size and I promptly fell flat on my face.
When I was in university, I lived in an attic. Some guy converted his house into student housing, stuck a toilet and kitchenette in his attic, and rented it to my friend and I for $325. Each. To get up to our castle in the sky, we had to climb stairs that had been tacked onto the back of the house that looked like this:
One summer morning during my second-year co-op term at an accounting firm, I was carrying my laptop, purse, audit bag and several files as I began to inch my way down the stairs in my burgundy skirt suit and heels. Shockingly, I lost my balance and fell all the way down the stairs to the landing right outside the middle floor tenants' door, which was open, as the tenants were sitting watching TV and enjoying the summer breeze.
There I sprawled in a dazed heap, files strewn around me like confetti. Call me a mean girl (check out Rachel's blog for the original Mean Girl), but I would totally laugh hysterically if someone made such a scene outside my door. But these people were so weird! They looked at me unsmiling, then went back to watching TV. No offers to help, no laughter, nothing. Maybe they thought I fell down the stairs just to get attention and didn't want to indulge me.
The most fun I ever had falling was at my bachelorette party. After some serious pre-drinking, ice cream cake and pool, my girls and I headed to the club for a foam party. Late in the evening, I was dancing on a ledge above the foam, having the best time ever. As I tumbled off the ledge and started to fall, I remember thinking "I'm flying! Yay, I'm flying! Whee!!"
I didn't register hitting the floor, but simply lay happily in the bottom of the foam before I realized I was in public and should probably get up. As I was mulling this over, my girlfriends came and lifted me out of the foam before I was trampled or molested by the half-naked guys bouncing around in the suds. Good times!
After I got married, I was seconded for a few months to the accounting firm's big city office. I was strolling out of an office tower in the financial district in my black power suit, trundling my audit bag behind me, when I tripped on my cute heels and fell down a few of those really wide, flat concrete stairs. A number of hot young investment bankers rushed to my aid, so while it was too late for me (being married and all), this could be a good pick-up strategy for any single golddiggers out there.
By the time our chief financial officer held a dinner party in his very nice backyard two summers ago, I'd already gained quite a reputation for clumsiness. As a result, when I fell down the deck stairs while going for a second helping of lamb, no one looked twice. One woman from another office heard the crash and said "What was that?" Without even turning around, my co-workers replied, "It's Azara. She's fine."
Since I show no signs of improvement in my ability to remain upright for extended periods of time, I've adopted a protective strategy to strengthen my bones and avoid a premature hip replacement. Dairy's good for your bones, right? Ice cream, here I come!