Saturday, August 1, 2009

In keeping with Phobia Tuesday’s reference to gravity and as an encore to my Runner’s World blog, I present to you Don’t Hurry In Your Mother’s Flip Flops.

Ever have the Murphy’s Law of days? Let me make you feel better about yours. I had planned a kickboxing class at 5:15 AM one Friday. Planned to go to it, not to teach it. So in order to get there in time, I set my alarm for 4:30. I know it seems awfully early just to go and sweat for an hour. Like I don’t do that at work as it is. Well, my alarm went off and I hit snooze. I didn’t hear it again and by the time I woke up on my own the class was just about over. I still had to get a shower so I began gathering towels and various other shower accoutrement. Then I noticed that I was out of shampoo. So I had to borrow my husband’s. I insist on washing my hair at the gym because the house that we live in now doesn’t have a shower, only a claw foot bathtub. Plus, the water pressure there is great and it’s always hot. It really isn’t easy to wash uber-long hair in a tub anyway. So I pulled all my workout stuff out of my bag and loaded it up with shampoo and conditioner, clothes, and my hair dryer. There are two dryers mounted in the locker room, but they’re similar to the ones in hotel rooms now. So really it would be faster if I were to get someone to blow on my head themselves. That’s why I bring my own hair dryer. I drove to the gym. I was about to get out of the car when I noticed my lotion was missing. It had been in the car. Now it was gone. Of course. I hurried up the steps wearing my purple floral flip-flops (previously my mother’s and now the only pair I own) which double as my shower shoes. The last three steps left and my shoe gets caught on a step and I go crashing down onto my knee. Half the contents of my bag go flying and now I understand my husband’s obsession with zipping bags. So I start laughing. A gym staff member was coming up behind me, luckily the only person in sight, and starts freaking out. “Oh, are you ok?! You skinned your knee! You’re bleeding!!” You would’ve thought my arm had flown off and splattered against the glass door the way this woman was carrying on. Only a flesh wound, though. I kept laughing and saying I was fine, that this happens pretty regularly as of late. Then she started crowing about Neosporin and I told her I was about to go take a shower anyway. I’m fine. So still laughing I made my way to the locker room. I don’t know whose idea it was to smother the women in the locker room with a cloying strawberry scent. That’s every day though. The locker I usually use was already taken so I had to find another one. I tried to get organized and then I changed. Luckily nothing bad happened as I showered, like the entire stall falling in or me being blinded by the complimentary soap dispenser having gone terribly awry. I dried off and went to get dressed. Now the last time I got dressed in that locker room I was stung on the toe by a wasp that happened to be crawling around on the floor, as wasps so commonly do (note sarcasm). So needless to say I was stepping more than gingerly. I hung my towels on the locker door to dry; they fell off. I put the shampoo and conditioner bottles on top of the lockers; they fell off. I pulled my shirt off the shelf in the locker; my keys fell out. I am still laughing, but it’s starting to sound a little maniacal in my head now. I dried my hair and put my make-up on uneventfully. So I went to work bleeding and smelling like man shampoo. Awesome.

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