I fell down yet again. Seriously, I fall with staggering regularity. And contrary to what KW might think, it has fuck all to do with the fact that I was wearing flip flops. I fall off of sensible shoes too. I once hit the dirt in my bare feet. I'm clumsy. Always have been.
So the truly sad part is not that I fell again. Nor is it that I fell in the street on one of those hideous dark days when it rains so hard that the worms come to the surface and lounge on the pavement to avoid getting crushed by the weight of the water-logged earth. It's not that I scraped a toe, bruised my knee and ended up with the possibly permanent indent on my key ring on my thumb in the process. It's not that I tore my coat on the way down or that no fewer than ten people witnessed it. The sad part is not even that I'm sitting at work in icky, wet jeans with mud encrusted on both knees, all the way down my left leg and across the fattest part of my arse.
No. The truly said part is that the force of the fall made the still-warm crusty baguette I was carrying go shooting out of the end of the bag like a golden brown torpedo onto the wet ground. and I'm sorry, but the five second rule goes straight out the window in the rain. Or in the street for that matter.
So, while I'm having a green salad for lunch, bugs, worms and an entire flock of shit-hawks are feasting on my baguette. Bastards.