In a throwback to what could only be called my most awkward years of life when I had glasses, braces, and the coordination of a newborn foal, I made sure to skin my knees last Sunday night. Was I slipping on ice, you ask? Did I slide into home plate? As if I would stoop so low!
The reality of the scraped knees was the result of all-u-can-drink champagne brunch followed immediately by an opening of a Broadway show. One would think that the 2 hours between unlimited champagne and open bar would have given me some sense, but it was quite the opposite. I was shocked to find myself (slightly) sober after the show, so I quickly remedied the situation with Jack and Cokes all night long. And at the after-after-party? Oh, then I realized I needed to start buying myself more drinks. And then I rightfully skidded down some concrete stairs and skinned both my knees.
Just when I think I'm getting a hold of myself as I near a new decade of life, I take a few steps in the wrong direction. In this case, these were drunken, stumbly steps. At least my 20s will go out with a bang, if not with an ounce of class.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.