In recent years, our New Year’s Day has been more eventful than our New Year’s Eve. This is possibly because Husband and I are both more likely to be awake during the Day than the Eve. This year, after a quiet dinner at home followed by a few vintage Twilight Zones from the SciFi marathon, Husband hit the hay and I watched Ryan Seacrest and a bunch of other celebrities I don’t know host the Times Square Ball Drop.
In between wondering where the thousands of revelers pee while jumping around in the cold, and why anyone would want to be that cold for that long to begin with, I had the nagging suspicion that were it not for Nivea and Toshiba’s relentless neon advertisements dancing in front of the cameras we might never have found our way out of 2008.
New Year’s Day, Husband and I left our house at 7 a.m. to head upstate for some real, authentic cold. Excited that the Cracker Barrel we passed was open (yay! grits!) we pulled over to carb up for the frigid day ahead. Breakfast was perfect, and as we headed to the parking lot, the hostess wished us a Happy New Year and reminded us to watch our step on the icy walkway.
For a person who’s always watching my step, I fall a freaking amount of times. A few years after Husband and I got married, Daughter was home on a college break and I remembered I had to tell her something as she was walking out the door. The thing I forgot to do was stop moving at the top step. As I began to speak, I went headfirst down the flight of about a dozen stairs. Were it not for the recurring bump-bump-bump as I hit every step on the way down, I could have been body surfing. But on wood instead of water.
The cool thing was that Husband saw me go right at the top and he dove after me. About halfway down, he managed to grab one of my ankles and literally pull me to a halt inches from the wall. We were both all bruised, but he saved me from a guaranteed concussion. I remember being sprawled out on the bottom landing and looking up to see Daughter’s eyes and mouth frozen open in shock. At which point I said what I’d started out to say twelve steps ago: “Take your umbrella.”
Husband is never surprised to turn around and see me lying on the ground where I’d just been standing. The mystery is why, since it’s not like I have these enormous boobs that throw me off balance. Last year in Indiana for my stepson’s wedding, a short walk across a shiny wooden floor in our hotel room while getting dressed sent me to the emergency room and a full arm cast for the next six weeks. And again, Husband saved me.
So we smiled at the Cracker Barrel hostess and thanked her for the warning, and halfway to the car I was down. I squinted up at the sun from my crumpled heap, and saw Husband shift the apple pecan streusel pie to his other hand so he could help me to my feet. “Come on,” he said calmly, “let’s go in and fill out an accident report.” We should probably carry them with us.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos are guaranteed to Get Noticed
tattooed beauties
green lady
blowing up union square
immaculate kryptonite