Hey, remember when I said that I had nothing new to report because I “hadn’t even done anything embarassing/klutsy” lately?? Um. WHY did I tempt the gods by saying that out loud? Have I learned nothing in my 27 years?

E and I went out for V-D dinner on Wednesday. I put my big girl shoes on (which were only kitten heels, not full on heels, mind you) (men: this means very tiny, short heels), he picked me up, and we went to the Mystery Spot he had booked, which turned out to be the restaurant of an inn overlooking the park. I have been there before, to the bar only, when my friend’s jazz band plays, and it’s very schmancy. Basically, it was way more than I was expecting.

(As an indication of HOW much more it was than I was expecting, I will tell you what I had gotten for E: a card and a batch of Fruity Pebbles Krispy Treats. He loves these things. More than he loves me!)

So, we ate and it was delicious. There was a complimentary glass of champagne, and then we had one more glass, but I would not say that I was DRUNK, per se. Dun dun dun.

On our way out, we were walking down the first flight of stairs, and E was behind me, and with my right hand I was holding the to-go box. Okay, I don’t know HOW – maybe it was a fight between my heel and the thick carpet, or maybe I crossed my feet and got the heels tangled up, I really can’t remember, but suddenly I was GOING DOWN. Going down to Chinatown.

In my head the falling was in slo-mo, but later E would say that to him it happened very quickly. I remember thinking “ooh tripping wait I can catch myself just grab the handrail wait OTHER FOOT SLIPPING TOO oh crap am not going to be able to fix this shit going down!” That was what my brain said.

When I stopped the whole “falling down the stairs” thing, I was about four steps beyond where I had slipped, holding the handrail with my right hand, wearing one shoe, and facing behind me, looking up at E. He was holding onto me and had the expression of one waiting to see whether you are okay before they start laughing.

I was okay, so we both laughed. My shoe was at the bottom of that landing of stairs, and I had DROPPED THE TO-GO BOX THROUGH THE STAIR RAILING TO THE LOBBY BELOW when I grabbed the handrail. As we rounded the corner to the flinal flight of stairs, the manager was holding up the box and said, perfectly innocently, “Rack of lamb for you, miss?” Luckily the box has A) not opened, and B) not hit anyone.

And I am okay. I have bruises all down my shin bones, which feel not-so-good, but I guess I was lucky. Anyway, this is why E should not bother spending money on me, really. I do things like falling down the stairs in fancy restaurants after only two drinks.

Oh, but the best part of it all? Nobody saw except for us. Because you know that that is waaay more important than how badly I got hurt.