Michelle lands on head and bounces; BND columnist retires treacherous footwear
I’ve been slipping lately. Not slipping mentally. Shame on you for even thinking that! No, I’ve been slipping physically. Pretty much all over the place.
I often think it has to do with my choice of shoes. I have this pair of fuzz-lined clogs that take zero seconds to put on. Sadly, convenience comes with a price. They don’t call ’em “slip-ons” for nothing.
“I almost died!” I told my son, Sam, on a recent winter’s morning. “I was filling the bird feeders when I went down. I thought you’d find me out there frozen and covered in feathers.”
“How did you land?” he asked.
This was a very good question. When it comes to crash landings, I’m all over the place. Sometimes I land on my head. Other times, I land on my butt. This time, I landed flat on my back.
“I went down gracefully,” I said. “But I laid there forever. I was afraid to move in case something was broken.”
“Didn’t you do the same thing last winter when you landed in the driveway?” he asked.
“Actually that was two winters ago. And exactly which landing do you mean?”
In February 2020, I went down twice, one day apart. The first time, I was trying to bring in an empty trash can. The second time, I was collecting the mail.
In my defense, our driveway is steep and in the winter it gets icy. I was wearing boots during both incidents. Cute boots. No tread. I have since retired that pair.
“I remember you telling me that, while you were lying in the driveway, a couple cars drove by,” my son recalled.
“Yes. I heard them. I didn’t see them. I was too busy seeing stars.”
Fortunately, I was able to walk away from both falls, so I guess I should consider myself lucky. My friend, Lori, slipped while visiting her son in Japan and required surgery on her ankle. It was a rainy day. The sidewalk was slippery. And she was wearing sandals.
Another pal, Nancy, took a dramatic spill on ice while walking to her car. Her five-star landing was captured on film and she good-naturedly shared it on Facebook.
And then, there’s my BFF Lydia, who went down in a perfectly dry parking lot, while wearing stiletto heels. Two days later, with a hematoma on her leg, she invited me to go on a three-mile hike.
“Everybody falls sooner or later, Shell,” she said. “As long as you get right back up, it doesn’t count.”
Oh, I think it counts. And the older I get, the less I bounce. For this reason, I’m saying bye-bye to my fuzz-lined clogs. Those puppies are for the birds!
