It happened instantaneously. One moment I was on my feet, the next, I was lying on the floor, spread out amongst shocked faces that turned into hysterics shortly thereafter. Final result: Floor = 1, Ah Dad = 0. And I have the bruised cheek (and ego) to prove it.
We celebrated the arrival of 2014 in spectacular fashion with some great friends. It was the awesome-st of awesome, a sort of middle-age frat party if you will. Our joyous gathering migrated from friends talking, to eating, to appreciating eighties music, to dance roulette. (For those uninformed people, dance roulette is a game where you flick through your music selection on your tablet and then dance to any random song that comes up.)
Eventually we ended up in the pool. It was there. It was clean and shiny. Technically we just kept on jumping in and getting out and jumping in again. Like anxious toddlers standing on the side waiting for daddy to catch them. It was basically an exercise in water displacement. I was a little disappointed to find there was still water left in the pool after our Olympic level diving sessions.
What we didn’t realise at the time was that all those little droplets who were exhumed from their serenity of glittering in the moonlight were plotting revenge. They were gathering their forces and sneaked by in little streams and puddles. They eventually made their way onto our “dancefloor”.
We were refreshed and decided to continue our game of dance roulette. And here’s a little known fact: White men can’t dance, but white men with too much punch think they can. It was my turn and I was assigned a great eighties anthem. I was about to do an interpret dance on “Shout”, my own freestyle version of it , when I stepped on the rebellious water that gathered silently in a huge puddle on the floor. (Curses for making water a clear liquid!)
I slipped. Spectacularly. And fell on my face. With the loudest “DUD!” every recorded in the history of man. A full-on text book face-plant. This only happens when your head decides to move south at the speed of gravity and your body follows suit, only to be stopped by a concrete floor. I
was am still pissed at my arms for failing miserably in breaking my fall. And now I have a semi-swollen, blue-ish tinted left cheek, with a much more bruised self-esteem. In fact, I think my pride is still stuck on that damn floor. Must admit chewing is slightly more difficult than last year. (But it was worth it!!)
To add insult to injury, which in this case implies a literal reality, I asked my wife how the hell did I manage to fall so hard…on my face? Don’t people normally slip and fall and end up on their asses? Her reply was a sinister one, camouflaged with layers of love and sympathy. When actually is was just a very typical I-told-you-so. She said:
“It happens when grown men wants to act like little kids.”
Isn’t she lovely?