My grandfather called me Gracie when I was a little girl and would make an awkward, bumbling misstep. My mother put me in dance classes beginning at the age of three. By nine when she realized it wasn’t helping, she stopped wasting her money and withdrew me from the classes. I’ve never been the most coordinated, graceful girl in the group. I was always taller than everyone in my class. I was a gangling mess of arms and legs and I let them flap in the wind as they may. With three brothers and no sisters, I didn’t learn much about the feminine wiles that a girl develops into grace, poise, and charm. I am who I am – a tomboyish, klutzy girl, knocking her way along. But, it doesn’t bother me because the best compliment anyone can give me is that I am “real.” And that I am.
My health issues continue. Last Monday, I had a root canal. The procedure itself went quite well. However, once the Novocain wore off it felt like the dentist had been drilling for oil in that tooth. I couldn’t chew on either side of my mouth until Thursday. As if that wasn’t enough, Gracie made an appearance on Monday also.
I had just gotten home and was checking my mail when my neighbor walks up to tell me that I left my car lights on. I thanked him for telling me but told him that the lights would shut off automatically. I shut my mailbox and proceeded to walk up the stairs when the OCD in me floated to the top of my conscious and I began to worry that maybe I had forgot to turn off the lights since it was dusk when I was driving home. What if I had forgotten to turn them off? Half-way up the stairs I decided that the only way I’d be able to rest would be to check and make certain that the lights were turned off. So I turned around to head back down the stairs. Some where in the turn I caught my clod-hopper, four-inch heeled, shoe in my too long slacks hem and began to wobble. Time slowed for a few seconds. I grappled to gain my balance. Every reaction seemed to make it worse and at some point I decided it was best to just go with what was about to happen. I gave up the fight and allowed myself to fall forward down the steps. I laid for a few seconds at the base, cussing what had just occurred and taking stock of my aches and pains to see if any were the result of broken bones. I carried my shoes as I limped my way back to the parking area, waived to the “kind” neighbor and confirmed that my car lights were off. I’ve been sore and miserable all week. Today is Sunday and I’m finally feeling better, just in time for another dental appointment tomorrow.
On a lighter note, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one who makes missteps. This guy has rented a billboard in order to find a wife. He felt he would gain exposure to a larger audience with the demographics that he is looking for by doing a billboard instead of using another means to find a wife. Unfortunately, no one told him that West Hollywood wasn’t the best place for him to place that billboard. You see, it is widely known to be a highly gay-centric community. Unless he wants his wife to have bulging muscles and facial hair, he’s barking up the wrong tree.