So I hiked and then I fell down.
I didn't fall on the hike. I tripped over a step while running for no good reason.
I'm bringing this up again, because every time someone asks me what happened to my face (a question that I truly cannot hear enough) and I say I tripped, they inevitably ask if I was drunk.
Actually my mom said, "Robin, it's time to lay off the booze."
Honestly, I'd love to blame my trip on being drunk. I wouldn't even lie about it.
But I wasn't (yet. Falling on one's face is a great reason to drink a bunch of Crown and Bud Lite Lime ... not mixed together, people, that would be awful ... or would it? I must try that next time).
As I said, we hiked and then went back to Scott and Laurena's house to barbecue and eat cake. There was beer and I had a couple, but was totally within normal limits (well, as normal as my limits can be).
What happened is that I had a Robin moment.
See, I'm clumsy.
Very much so.
I've always been that way. Grace is not my strong suit — OK, it's not even in my deck of cards.
I remember one family vacation when I was around 9 or so, my family started calling me "Ouch" because I hurt myself constantly.
So falling down, tripping, knocking myself in the head, stabbing myself in the hand with my own fingernail, poking myself with the edge of the microwave, burning my face with a curling iron ... these things happen all the time — without that aid of alcohol or anything else.
I have long legs and chunky thighs that cause me no end of trouble. I have a hard time not tripping over my own giant feet. The fact that I've never fallen down on stage while playing my guitar is a miracle (and something that I fully expect to happen at some point).
In short, I'm awkward.
The other day at work, I tripped over a floor mat that is about a quarter-inch thick and I've both fallen up and down that stairs here (one time I was distracted by a coworker opening a door and sprained my ankle).
So I fell on my face while running and I wasn't drunk (yet). Why does this surprise anyone?