Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The Lard Story

If you read my blog yesterday, you may remember that I told you that I once fell in lard, and that maybe I'd tell you that story today. As I write this, I'm not sure if there is a lesson to be learned, or if I'm just telling you a funny story. But I figured someone reading yesterday's blog may be curious about the lard incident.

Brian and I had gone into NYC to see an afternoon show and have dinner at this quaint little Italian restaurant uptown. It was a beautiful summer afternoon so we decided to walk to the restaurant. On our way there, we passed a street fair. Keep this in mind.

There was a cookie place next door to the restaurant, and I cannot pass up cookies, so I got a dozen or so. They put them in a box, like a miniature pizza box; in order to carry them, I had to put my hand under the box. Keep this in mind.

We were walking back to the parking garage when suddenly I slipped in something and fell on my rear end. It happened so fast, I didn't even know what was happening. My feet just slipped out from under me; I twisted all around on the way down and I broke my fall with my arm (luckily, I didn't break my arm!). "What the *$%@ was that?" I shouted. How Christlike of me. 

The first thing I noticed was that the cookie box hadn't moved. I had saved the cookies! The next thing I noticed was that I was covered in something slimy and greasy. I had no idea what it was, but it was all over my hand, my arm and my cute red jeans---the side and  the backside.

My first thought was that I fell in some homeless person's vomit. After my initial shock at having fallen (when you're on the other side of 50, falling is a big deal! It hurts a lot more than it did at 20), I was angry. And disgusted at the thought of having some homeless person's vomit all over me. But after I got my bearings, I looked down and didn't see anything resembling vomit. I had no idea what it was. I'm not sure if that made it worse or better. 

We were in an area of mostly businesses; there weren't too many people around and no fast food or coffee places for me to clean myself off. In fact, there was nothing around that was open. I was covered in some sort of slime and had no way of wiping it off. Remember, it was summer?

Let's sidestep (pardon the pun) a moment to Brian. He'd watched this and had been very sympathetic of my dilemma; however, I'm sure it must have looked very funny, especially my writhing in mid-air trying in futility to right myself--all the while holding a pizza-type box full of cookies perfectly straight. I don't know why it is, but we humans often find falling funny. He was having trouble containing himself. And when he started to lose it, so did I, but not in the same way. "Sure, go ahead and laugh!" I cried. "If it had happened to you, I'll bet you wouldn't think it's funny!"

We had no choice but to keep going. I used my cardigan sweater to wipe off what I had by now deducted as grease from the street fair (remember that?). My chef friend later told me it was probably lard. Who dumps lard in the street, especially at a crosswalk???

After I got the bulk of it off my hand and arm, I tried to get it off my pants. That was futile. I threw the sweater in the next trash can. 

I was now past the anger and on to embarrassment. It looked like I had snot all over my cute red jeans. People were now looking at me. I felt the need to explain to everyone I passed that I fell in something. It's New York City---who cares?!

Suddenly, as we were walking along the street, I started to chuckle. It was actually pretty funny. My chuckle grew to laughter. By the time we walked into Starbucks several blocks away, I was almost in hysterics. I walked regally to the bathroom, with my head held high and my red snot pants screaming, "Look at me!" And look they did. It was all I could do to just contain my laughter.

Face it-falling is funny---as long as you don't get hurt. I have no idea why we find it so, but we do. And just think...I gave new meaning to the term, Lard-Ass (sorry for the very unspiritual word, but I just had to).

The lesson? I guess watch where you walk and always carry something to wipe yourself off with in case you should fall in lard, but more importantly...don't take life so seriously. As long as you're not hurt, learn to laugh at yourself. 

Blessings From the Lard-Butt,
Mary

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