I went shopping for shoes yesterday. Exciting, right? Usually when I go looking for shoes to fit my size 5, broad, flat as a pancake feet (I seriously have no instep), the experience doesn’t go as smoothly as hoped.
“Oh, we don’t stock your size. We’ll have to order them in. Do you have a crapload of time to waste, many days from now, to come and try them on? Then buy them out of guilt because we went to so much trouble?”
“Sorry, we only have ugly shoes in your size. Would you like to view the senior citizen range or the 12 year old girl variety?”
Yesterday just took the cake. I reached a whole new level of awesomeness.
So, I decided I didn’t have much time on my side. I had a cranky toddler (who had just endured an hour long car ride and plenty of time strapped into a stroller and high chairs) and both my mum (moral support/wonderful helper) and I were exhausted. This was supposed to be the last stop on a crazy little last minute shopping trip, for clothing and supplies for our interstate journey, to say a final farewell to my beloved grandfather.
I was excited to spot a cute pair of black wedges and a bright blue pair of kitten heels (the perfect non-flat flat shoe for a short arse).
My mum took care of the Little Mister while I sat on one of those cushioned, seat thingys that are made just for trying on shoes. You know the ones. I stuck a black, suede wedge on my stumpy little foot and as I went to wiggle my toes around to check the comfort factor, I stacked it. I didn’t just fall over like a normal person. I wasn’t even in a standing position when the … incident… happened. I somehow slid off of the seat, right on over the corner. It was a padded corner – totally foolproof, right? Wrong. I was a disaster waiting to happen. It was the perfect storm. A couple of weeks of grief, tiredness, a packed schedule and a long day in public appearing to be a normal person (you get it – I know you do), and my clumsy body decided it was time to shut this thing down.
A deep, sharp pain shot through my right butt cheek and I was left breathless. The muscles in my behind (the ones you use way more than you realise) hurt so much from me trying to be upright that I had no choice but to lie down. In the middle of the store. On the floor. While my mum wrangled my restless toddler and the shop assistants pretended to look busy.
I couldn’t even get words out and tears welled up in my eyes. My mum was over in a shot – from her tone of voice, I thought she was about ready to call an ambulance! Honestly, it wasn’t necessary. It was just a waaaa-mbulance situation, really. I tried to answer but it took a little while. I managed to get out, “I’m OK. I’m OK. I fell and hurt my butt real bad.”
Which is probably not at all what my mum or the concerned shop assistants were expecting me to say.
I’m nothing if not original and accidentally creative.
In my shock (and determination to buy cute shoes), I managed to finish trying on the shoes. I know. I know. I’m to be admired for such grit. Hold your applause. Please.
I decided the black shoes must be cursed (because I’m so rational right after sustaining a butt injury) and took the blue shoes. They never did anything to hurt me. I love you, blue shoes.
I made small talk at the register. OK, I babbled on about my accident to prove I had a sense of humour and that I wasn’t going to sue them for their pointy seat corners (that weren’t really pointy – I swear I could stab myself with a spoon – I’m that clumsy). It wasn’t until one clothes shop later when I’d tried on a hideous dress (they always look better on the hanger) and decided whether a biker influenced cropped blazer was ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’ that I almost cried trying to pick the Little Mister up off the floor (he was doing that thing where he pretends his legs don’t work in order to get cuddles), before crying for real on my mum’s shoulder (literally – how embarrassment) and said, “I’m ready to call it a day.”
I know. I’m such a trooper. I also rarely get a helper when I need to go clothes shopping. I had to get sh*t done!
During the car ride home, I was starting to feel the bruising. I needed to shift my weight to find comfort, but shifting my weight involved using the bruised muscles. By the time I got home I was a bit of a mess.
My caring (if not perpetually confused) husband went to put an ice pack on my skin and I yelped, “NO! NOT DIRECTLY ON THE SKIN!” but just the movement it took to yelp made me cry. I think ‘bewildered’ was probably his primary emotion at that moment.
I only had ‘tension headache’ tablets at home. So basically, it was like I was treating a tension headache in my butt. Which sums it up, really. If I wasn’t me, I would have had a field day with ridiculous jokes about that.
I’ve learnt that ibuprofen helps, but it takes a long time to kick in and wears off pretty quickly too. Ice helps, but not for long. I have a plane ride to survive in a few days, so I’m busy willing my injury to heal!!
Turns out you need those muscles to sit on the toilet, sit on the couch, get into bed, pick things up off the floor (including a 13 kilo toddler), lift things up high (including a 13 kilo toddler), to get up off of a chair or any seated position, to sneeze, cough, bend, twist. You name it.
I think life is telling me to slow down.
And make really bad butt jokes. I am seriously the butt of my own joke.
What’s the weirdest way you’ve gotten an injury? Seriously, I can’t be alone here, people.
Update: Turned out I’d bruised my coccyx pretty badly, so I don’t feel so bad for being such a wuss at the time now!
