Falling

I fell into a shop this afternoon and drew stares and sympathy.  It hurt, of course – later I nursed a bruised toe and aching knee – but I smiled up from my kneeling position whilst saying “no harm done” in that plucky British way I have.  The elegant assistant in her killer eight-inch heels looked relieved and gave me a chocolate from the bowl kept for customers.  I was reminded of the time I fell off a gym treadmill in 2006.  At what age does falling become “having a fall”?  Was the sympathy chocolate because I was now at that awkward age?  Is two random falls in five years a lot? At least she didn’t offer me a chair.                      

Elegant’s more sensibly shoed colleague served me with the purchase I had been thinking over for two days with the good news that today was 20% discount day.  Today’s unstable re-visit netted me a cash saving!  We discussed the merits or otherwise of heels and I learned the girl in question was recently off work with a bad back.  Aha, I said.  That will be the heels.  Yes, her colleague replied.  I’m always telling her, but you know how it is with these young ones . . . They take no notice of us.

I left feeling older than when I arrived.