Take that, you zombie motherfuckers...
I did make a feeble attempt to fold a basket of laundry that had been sitting in our TV room for a week but I only got halfway through it before I decided that I needed to work on some writing. So I abandoned our wrinkled garments, poured myself a glass of wine and headed to the basement.
And that was when shit got weird. And by weird I mean "fell-down-the-stairs-like-a-fucking-bag-of-hammers".
Before I continue on, I would like to provide full disclosure, since everyone asks the same goddamn question when I tell this story and it's not "oh my! Are you okay?"
So, I'll beat you to the punch: No, I was not drunk. Assholes.
However, I was carrying a glass of red wine when my flip flop suddenly decided to freak the fuck out and shoot out from under me, only to seek refuge in the hem of my ridiculously long dress.
Picture courtesy of a very unsympathetic coworker. Clearly, he's a total douche-canoe
Falling was a very strange experience. It felt like I was sliding down those stairs for awhile because I was very busy making conscious decisions, like trying to sit up so I didn't crack my head on the steps. Or deciding that I shouldn't try to grab the railing because a) I didn't want flip under the railing and fall into the pile of potentially dangerous crap that was beneath it and b) I was holding the wine glass and trying to keep it from breaking as much possible because I figured adding broken glass to the free-for-all would be a bad idea.
What's directly under my basement stairs. Sort of. Not really.
I remember hitting the floor and then my next thought was "I wonder if ML heard that because holyshit would that be embarrassing," as if I flitted down the stairs like a delicate butterfly instead of catapulted down them like a fucking sack of bricks. The muffled shriek and pounding footsteps overhead clued me into the fact that, yes, ML had indeed heard.
ML is a pretty stoic guy. He's not a man of many words, but when he does speak he's usually really funny. Or downright weird. He almost never displays emotion. Even keeled, that guy. So, when he freaked out when he took in the scene, I kind of freaked out too. I mean, there I was lying at the bottom of the stairs, wondering vaguely if I let something very large fuck me in the ass because I was in serious pain in that region and ML suddenly goes into panicked paramedic mode and starts talking about all the blood. I couldn't figure out why he was so upset because I was pretty sure the only thing I broke was my asshole.
And then it hit me: I was covered from head to toe in red wine. Except ML didn't realize that. He thought it was blood. I kept telling him I was okay as he kept trying to push me back into a prone position and babbling about broken spines or something. It's a little hazy. Finally, I managed to convince him that it was not blood but wine I was covered in.
I'm assuming I looked like this, only tits over ass on the basement floor and minus the corsage
Wanna guess what his next question was? (Psssst, if you can't figure it out, scroll up a few paragraphs. Also, stop reading my posts drunk. Assholes.)
Poor ML. It didn't help that apparently I had not uttered a sound the entire time this little incident occurred. ML admitted later that he heard the glass shatter, heard me hit every step, and the fact that I didn't make a peep, not a yell or a curse, scared him more than anything.
Because I'm always running my mouth.
Once I convinced ML that I didn't need to go to the hospital, I cleaned up and poured myself another glass of wine. But this time, I hung around the dining room. Those basement stairs are a bitch. It wasn't until the next day that I was able to see the full amount of damage I had done. I know I was very lucky to escape with only a few scrapes and a huge bruise but man...my ass looks like someone put it through a meat grinder.
Essentially what my right butt cheek looks like right now. Annnnd I can move steak to the "Do Not Eat or You Will Barf Vociferously" list...
I mean seriously, it looks like I had an extended play-date with 50 Shades in his Red Room of Pain or something. I was very tempted to start telling people that ML was beating me every time they asked why I was walking around like I had a two-by-four stuck up my ass. But every once in awhile I can be a nice girlfriend and not a pain in his ass.
Don't worry, it won't last long.