I fell yesterday. Not an horrific fall, but an 'I'm walking really fast in my boots with the three inch heels and step of a curb' fall. Pratfall. Carole Lombard. Lucille Ball. Dick Van Dyke. I'm sure it looked idiotic. Nolan (who was sitting in the car with his dad at the time) said it looked like I fell out of frame. Not only did I fall, but I fell ON MY BUTT in a big mud puddle. In front of my husband and father-in-law. And then I SWORE. Twice. Not the big guns, but definitely inappropriate around the father-in-law. However, Nolan said he read my lips in the rear view mirror as they were driving away, and that he might have to wash my mouth out with soap. I say I saved the worst for when no one was around and he should be grateful.
The really bad part? Today I ache. ALL OVER. My arms, my back, my legs. Seriously. I'm 35, not 85; I should be able to take a little spill and bounce right back, right? Evidently not. Stupid traitorous body.
And one of Nolan's employees stepped through the ceiling in the master bathroom in the new house. Tell me why it had to be one of OUR guys? Why couldn't it have been one of the other million yahoos that are working out there? The house is coming along, though. I dunno if it'll be March 1 like they said, but I can hope.
They call me Grace...