No one would ever accuse me of being graceful, so when Cheesy Blogger’s announced their writing prompt for this week, Watch Your Step, I thought it would be the perfect time to share one of MY stories of epic failure. Because friends, I may not have broken a bone, twisted an ankle or concussed myself… but I did end up with a pretty road rash and hurt pride.
My Stagette was probably the most fantastical event of all time. This is true, I have heard it repeated on numerous occasions. I cant help if any party involving me ends up being fantastical. It is what it is. Ask anyone.
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| Please note the penis water bottle |
On this particular evening we started out at my SIL’s house for a BBQ and a sex-toy party. Good times, good times. And that’s all I will say about THAT. We moved on from the BBQ and headed out to the local country bar where the shit-storm began. I vaguely recall a penis water bottle that the bartenders gladly refilled for me, as well as a huge blow-up penis that almost every patron in the bar signed for me…but the rest of the night is fairly fuzzy. Surprising, I know.
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| Try hiding THIS from a 9 year old! |
I think most everyone was ready to pass out call it quits by 1pm, so we decided to head out the door and stuff our faces with hotdogs from the genius cart vendor outside. Now, I know this bar. I have been there numerous times since I was 18…err…19 I mean (I never had fake ID, NEVER), I am very familiar with the architecture of this building. I have been sober AND drunk here…
Which does nothing to explain what happened next…
While exiting, in my supreme excitement of the hotdog I was about to devour in a few single bites (much to the delight of my friends) I walked straight off the 4 steps in front of the entrance as if they never existed at all.
There was no tripping in my drunken haze y’all. I clearly walked into thin air.
So today, over a year later, I have a nice oblong-shaped rose-colored beauty mark on my left knee. Battle scars my friends, battle scars.
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