Created for Comic Relief.
I have a large collection of ‘being a klutz’ stories starting at about seven years old. This is one of the more memorable ones from when I was twenty.
Back in the days of the dinosaurs, young girls were not supposed to wear black. I never understood the why of this. But since I lived at home until I married at twenty-one, my mother had veto power over what I wore. When I was in my junior year in college, I finally got permission to buy a sophisticated black cocktail dress with a slightly daring neckline and swishy taffeta skirt. I was also allowed to wear mascara for the first time. I even pushed the envelope and wore dangly black and silver earrings and strappy high heels.
I thought I was the most glamorous and sexy gal, since Liz Taylor.
I got my mother to position my date strategically, so I could make a dramatic entrance coming down our staircase. All was well until about the fifth step from the bottom, when suddenly my sexy, strappy, high heels slipped out from under me. I bumped the rest of the way down on my slippery taffeta covered tush, landing finally with legs askew and mouth agape.
My date jumped to his feet, eyes large with horror, but hesitant as to how to extract me from my tangled plight. My mother, bless her, started hooting with laughter.
There was nothing else to do, but laugh. Once I did, the hilarity was contagious and we all laughed helplessly, tears streaming down our faces. By the time mom and my date calmed down enough to hoist me up, my tear streaked mascara made me look like I had come down the stairs on my face.
Some of us just weren’t meant to be sexy and glamorous. Some of us were created for comic relief.