Why I'm Not a Ballerina.

Tomorrow, I go my new building for work. They moved us back to the big building. Back to the compound.

In honor of my beloved Pioneer Square, which I'll miss dearly, I'll leave you with this:

Picture it - Last week. Pioneer Square. Lunchtime - the streets are crawling with people. Me, feeling pretty sassy in some wide leg pants that are a bit long and some pointy boots. I've just emerged from my favorite bookstore. I'm hitting my stride right in front of the most crowded sandwich shop on First. Then it happens.

My boot catches in the cuff of my pants.

As if in slow motion, I go down. I go down HARD.

I spring up like a rabbit, and look into the window of the sandwich shop at about twenty horrified onlookers.

I want to die.

I run (carefully) away.



megant599 said...

I too have a love/hate relationship with my flare leg slacks...especially when the hem comes loose enough that the heel of the other foot can get hooked on it...I'm sure you get the picture. At least since you're moving office locations those people may never see you again:)

Andrea said...

That's awesome. Reminds me of why you should write more. You are hilarious!