...and then there were two!

We all have our blonde moments

Things I used to hear as I was growing up:

"Stop walking like a man!"

"Sit properly!"

"Wear a skirt!"

"Don't laugh so much!"

"Why are you so clumsy?"

A graceful gazelle I was not. Heaving hippopotamus, maybe.

My sister was the gazelle. She took ballet lessons and was in the school gymnastics team and also has a very deformed looking pinkie toe (it looks like a squashed grape!) because of all that somersaulting, leaping and prancing.

I took piano lessons and always ran away from PE lessons and hid in the school hall with Funny Bee and that's why I was SO FAT in secondary school.

Anyway, despite having very large feet and a very low centre of gravity (i.e. short), I am still super clumsy. I have fallen down in school before, DURING LUNCH HOUR, in front of scores of milling students. Very very very embarrassing.

You must be wondering by now, where this post is going. Well, I fell down the stairs at home last week, while carrying DN! And when I say I "fell down the stairs", I really mean down the stairs, all 13 of them. (13! The odds were stacked against me from the get go.)

Last Wednesday, I decided to be Miss Fashionista (Blonde Moment No. 1) and put on a black shift and blue tights. I was quite excited about the tights because they were 50% off (Topshop) and textured! (Blonde Moment No. 2) I asked DN if "mommy looked nice" and he nodded "yes", clever boy. What I failed to ask him was, "should mommy walk down the slippery epoxy painted steps in her even more slippery blue tights and carry you at the same time". I did just that. (Blonde Moment No. 3)

I knew I was in for it on step number 2. Everything started moving in slow-mo from then on. I remember my left foot sliding off step number 2 and thinking, "Ohhh... shit. The bloody blue tights!!!" Now at this time, I was carrying DN on the right. And the handrail was (of course), on the right. I couldn't grab the handrail because I was carrying DN. DN! The poor guy! He was going to tumble down with me because his mom was dumb enough to walk down the stairs, in slippery blue tights!

Instinctively, and desperately, I grabbed him to my chest, and surrendered myself to gravity. I fell on my waist and then, on my ample behind and (get this), slid and bounced all the way down the remaining 11 steps. As I bounced down, step by step, I thought to myself, "What the hell? When is this going to stop!?!" I'm sure DN was thinking the same thing.

And so I fell all the way down the stairs and DN and I landed in an embarrassed heap at the bottom. By this time, PF had already run to the stairs from the kitchen because he heard me squeal like a stuck pig as I was falling down. His exact words were, "I heard something very loud." Thanks ah. -_-

DN looked flabbergasted, his eyes were as large as saucers and he had saliva all over his face (I had apparently grabbed him so hard that his face was smashed against me and his pacifier had flown out of his mouth and into the living room). I looked worse. If PF had seen me like this before our wedding, I think he would have changed his mind. My dress was hitched up to my waist and my blue tights clad legs were tangled in a heap. Oh, and I was moaning like an injured cat.

We were not a pretty sight.

But thank goodness DN was alright. No bruises, no scratches, no bumps. He was well-cushioned during the fall. -_-