I went by the bike shop where my dad works today to take him a Diet Coke (it's a family affair as far as the Diet Coke goes) and it was the first time I've been in there since "the incident." As background information, or for those people who have better things to do than keep up with every minute detail of my life on this blog, my dad is a retired Air Force pilot and now works at a mountain bike shop. We would never have guessed that he would love it so much, but he does...I guess in part because he does mountain bike marathons and whatnot and just totally digs talking to people about bikes and bike riding. Anyway, the shop is his home away from home...to the point that my mom often makes remarks like "Gee honey, should we sell the house and move closer to the shop so in case there's a bike emergency you can get there faster?" And then my dad goes "Why is that funny. That's not even funny." And of course my mom and I laugh and he gets on his bike and rides to work. So, when I'm home I often hang around the shop or am called on to bring things to him during the day that he needs, like Diet Coke.
So, over Spring Break I came home and was called to the shop to bring my dad his cell phone so he could make a call to his other job (he also subcontracts for a big defense firm on occasion). I slipped on these gardening shoes my mom had sitting by the door, thinking "Well, I'm just gonna be driving, and it's only a short trip." Of course, my mom forgot to tell me that she bought these shoes at like Crappy Shoes R Us and they were totally unstable and even a normal (read: not incredibly klutzy like me) person could barely stay upright on them.
So, I get to the shop, grab the cell phone, and hop out of the car to just run it in to my dad. I notice there is an ambulance parked in the lot outside the shop, but you know, it's a small town in the mountains, and everyone bikes, so it's not that unusual to see all sorts of people in the shop on their lunch breaks and whatnot. I walk in, hand over the phone, and notice there are TWO very nice looking paramedics in the shop perusing the mountain bike selection. So, of course, I take stock of my situation. I'm still in my pajama pants, a t-shirt from a brewery (Flying Dog), and these stupid gardening clog things. I decide to high tail it out of there before they spot me in full frump, and just as I get to the door, I fall down. Spectacularly. I mean, arms and legs everywhere, purse flung across the floor...etc. My dad is outside using the cell phone, which means it's just me and these paramedics. They of course run over and help me up, and the cuter of the two (it always works that way) goes, "Oh my god, are you OK??" to which I answer "I'm wearing my mom's shoes." And then I run out the door and drive home in pure embarrassment.
The first thing my dad said when he came home that night was "What did you say to those paramedics? Right after you left they just about ran out the door...and they were laughing."
Yeah. I am so smooth. It's a wonder I'm still single, huh?
