This afternoon it warmed up to a balmy 50 degrees, so I took Big E out back for a rousing game of one-on-one soccer. Soccer is my least favorite sport to play (sorry soccer lovers). I'm more of a basketball girl, myself. But in an effort to tire Big E out, I took one for the team.
As I raced down the very slight incline of my backyard to get my size 11, bare feet (I couldn't very well ruin my Stuart Weitzman knee high boots) on the cold, hard ball, I lost my footing.
I slipped on the dormant, frozen grass and my dried-out winter feet provided no traction. If I was a cartoon, there would have been some funny sound effect. My feet went flying in the air and I landed ass first, on the grass. And I'm not going to sugar coat it. It hurt like a b*tch.
HELP! I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP.
I looked around to see if any of my neighbors had witnessed the big spill. All was quiet in the 'hood with the exception of the men across the street busy building a house and stifling their judgement and giggles.
And because I'm raising such a compassionate young man, he raced past my carcass and scored a goal, before he came back to check on his mother. I mean I only grew him and birthed him so why would he care that I had possibly broken my back or my butt or my pride?
I got up, dusted off the grass and kept on playing.
Worn out, Yoyser. He was sweating and everything!