It took me a full day to come to terms with how funny it must have looked. New Year’s Eve, me, freezing rain, and an asphalt driveway all played starring roles in the comedic drama that unfolded outside my house just about a day ago.

There I was, carefully scooting across my driveway, fully aware of the possible dangers the absolute lack of friction below my feet was posing. Then, without warning, drumroll, or ominous soundtrack, my feet were suddenly at a higher altitude than my shoulders. It was as if I’d stepped into some sort of Gilligan’s Island booby trap, but instead of dangling by my feet from a palm tree surrounded by pygmies, I crashed head first into my driveway surrounded by the echoes of my own swearing. And I landed HARD.

I truly believe that when it comes to falling, it’s not true that the bigger you are the harder you fall. It’s the OLDER you are the harder you fall. You see, we get out of practice… We don’t know how to fall anymore… We forget how it feels and the combination of pain and embarrassment overwhelm our senses and we can’t decide which hurts more.

I laid in the driveway for a couple of seconds, not moving, trying to figure out if anyone saw or heard me. While relieved at the time, I’m almost disappointed that nobody saw it. I would like to get verification that it was as incredibly acrobatic to watch as it felt during that slow-motion half-second body slam I endured. I mean, it wasn’t one of those slip slop attempt to recover drunken ballerina looking type of falls. It was as if someone had a rope tied to my feet with the other end tied to a drag racing funny car when the light turned green. Whoosh!

Glad I got it right on the first take. That’s a wrap folks.