The Weebles Wobble

Last night I twisted my ankle while walking home. That was fun. There I was, strolling along innocently, waking up all the neighbors with my singing, when an underground sidewalk gnome pushed the sidewalk up so I would trip. I read about them as a kid, and I swear they exist, because after you’ve fallen on your face you turn around to see what you tripped over, and there’s only smooth concrete. It’s maddening.

I would not have twisted my ankle, however, if I’d just fallen over. Instead, my ankle went one way, my body went the other, and my arms flailed everywhere until I regained my balance. I looked like an albatross making a landing.

I never fall over. It’s because of my low center of gravity, I suppose. I am clumsy and awkward as all get out, and possess no athletic talent except that I almost never fall. Do you remember those toys, the Weebles? Kids in school used to call my brother and me the Weebles, because “the weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.” They’d try to tackle us and kick our feet out from beneath us, but we’d always manage to right ourselves. It was pretty darn impressive, actually. But man, kids suck.

I never fall over because I hate to fall. My brother shares this aversion to ground-ward tropism. When we were maybe ten or eleven, our feet had finally grown too large for the double-bladed ice skates we’d always worn as kids. My mother, ever the frugal one, bought us new pairs of skates that were several sizes too big so that we’d get our money’s worth. She figured if we each wore eight pairs of socks, they’d fit just fine. Well, on the ice the skates had a tendency to shift about so much on our feet that we’d often find ourselves standing flat-footed with the soles of the skates perpendicular to the ice. It took us forty-five minutes to get around the rink once. We desperately clung to the sides of the rink, pulling ourselves along, as three-year-olds whizzed by merrily and laughed at us. I lost all sense of dignity that day, but I didn’t fall.

Anyway, today I’m sporting my running shoes with a flouncy summer skirt because they’re the only pair of shoes I own with decent support. Next time, I’m going to have to remember to spare my ankle and just bite the dust. My ass needs to take one for the team once in a while.