A Funny Thing Happened

I had one of those warm, fuzzy New York moments on my way to work yesterday: I was trotting along on 58th Street trying to quickly get to the subway in a vain attempt to make up for my late departure. My mind was running through my whole day: my grocery list, what time my yoga class was that night, unicorns, puppies, etc., and then BAM! The tip of my flip-flop caught the tip of the curb that I was mounting and my body was thrown into mid air.

My mind assessed the situation in slow motion: is this going to be a little trip? A stumble? A toe-stubbing? No, this one was going to be a full-blown fall–limbs splayed and personal belongings scattered–the kind where you momentarily forget about looking stupid and just focus on not breaking any bones or scraping anything near your face. My flip-flops flew off my feet and, just before my palms skidded along the sidewalk, I heard “OOOOOHHHH” from a random passerby (luckily this was on a side street, so there weren’t too many people around). Before I knew it, I was on my hands and knees on the sidewalk, my iPod still in one hand and my earphones miraculously still in place, and barefoot.

A nice man in a suit my father’s age stopped to help me up. I assumed he said “Are you okay,” but my music was still on and it took me a minute to compose myself and turn my volume down. The only thing I could think to say was “WHERE ARE MY SHOES?” He handed me my weathered, leather Rainbows, which were about six feet behind me. “You might need these,” he said. I managed a snorty laugh and thanked him. “Well, your day can only get better from here, right?”