I’m almost 39 years old. You’d think I’d be better at, you know, walking. Turns out, not so much.

Last night, on my way to happy hour. I came down the stairs of the parking garage and twisted my ankle and fell to the ground. There was a moment where I thought I wasn’t going to be able to get back up. As I was on the ground, trying to figure out if I was going to have to call my husband to come get me from the ground – not a short trip, by the way – an SUV that was circling up the garage stopped. The guy rolled down his window and asked me if I was okay.

I’d say I was embarrassed but I’m not. I’ve fallen too often to really be embarrassed by it any more.  So, I limped into work today. One of the nice Facilities guys offered me a ride in his golf cart because, evidently, I looked that pathetic.

So, I’m sitting in my office with my foot propped up on a chair and a bag of ice on it.

This is my life. And really, I’m too old to still be falling down to the ground.