Thursday, March 03, 2005

Story Time, or As It Turns Out I Really Shouldn't Be Allowed to Procreate

Once, when I was opening a jar of pickles in the kitchen in Troy, I wedged my foot in the shallow recess between the cabinets and the floor, lost my balance, and fell.

One moment I was just standing there, innocuously opening a pickle jar, and the next I'd hit the ground with the full weight of my body on my hip. I never even put out my hands to stop my fall because the entire time I fell (the duration of which lasted an amazingly long time) the only thought running through my head was that the jar of still unopened pickles clutched in my hand must by all necessary means never be dropped or allowed to hit the floor harshly lest it shatter everywhere into a million pieces and pickles. So my hip hit--BAM--and then the rest of my body, and then finally the pickle jar, which I set softly down last.

Dominic didn't see the fall and came running up to me, full of anxious concern. He thought I'd fainted.

"No," I said, "I just tripped on the floor and fell over. I didn't drop the pickle jar, though. See?"

He just helped me up, opened the jar, and fished out a pickle for me. I ate it. It was delicious.

2 Comments:

Blogger Audra said...

That is true Kate form, right there!

I will be spending the weekend in our lovely little hometown. Pray for me. Seriously.

5:16 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

hmmm, how gaucher ...

7:24 PM  

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