Thursday, January 13, 2011
Ugh. It's been a bruising week. (My workweek really runs from Saturday to Wednesday, rather unconventionally.)
In Monday, I began my day by striding confidently into work, stepping (in snow boots) into a wet, icy puddle in the front hall, sliding dramatically, flinging my weight to the side in an effort to regain balance, forgetting that I am carrying 30 lbs of books on that side, and taking a huge, banana-peel, silent-movie pratfall.
Hot tea in hand goes flying into the air and down on my face as I stare at the ceiling from the cold, wet floor. Next thing I know I am surrounded by students from my first-year class: "Oh my god - are you alright?".
Farewell, professorial dignity.
I don't know which was more bruised, my hip or my pride. (Wait: it's my hip. Several days on, it and my knee sport fist-sized matching purple-and-gold welts.) The first thing I did after picking myself up, however, was to check to see that I was actually wearing pants. It could have been, after all, a teacher's nightmare. Alas, I was wearing pants, and was totally awake.
How many stories have you read today that end with that sentence?