I am the silliest person I know. Decided to end this trip with a bang. I managed to fall down a flight of stairs while getting ready to go the airport. I texted Mr. Husband to tell him this and proudly announced that I was unhurt. Liar! Available for every second of every day for the last 2 weeks, he disappeared off the face of the earth during the final leg (pardon the pun) of this trip. Doesn’t answer the phone, respond to text message, mental telepathy or smoke signals.
Extreme self-pity ensued. How dare he not call me back when I’ve thrown myself down the stairs! And lovely stairs they are. Beautiful old New Orleans style stairs with hardwood and graceful white banisters. Should have inspected them more closely as I flew by. Hate to pass up an opportunity.
My sweet little nephew flew off the sofa and was at my side in a split second. Poor Sis was speechless. She should not have to see someone tumbling out of her stairwell before coffee. It’s just not southern. I felt like a total idiot and said “I’m fine” thinking, Oh crap what if I’ve broken something. I will never hear the end of this. The hub-man will ride me till the day I die. Nothing like a little early morning slapstick with your coffee.
And what a cup of coffee. Brother in Law is part owner of a coffee roastery. The Orleans Coffee Exchange. There is no such thing at bad coffee at his house. My sister operates that big steaming espresso machine as if it were easy as a toaster. I’m afraid of it and wouldn’t know where to begin.
Husband arrived at the airport, blissfully unaware of my predicament, in his big giant truck too big to pull to the curb, so he waves me over. Then throws the passenger side door open and yells “what the hell are you doing?” as I’m staggering through traffic and people dashing around. I managed to drag myself and my baggage into said accursed truck and announced that I would be taking a taxi home henceforth on future trips. At least a taxi driver will pull over and help me with my luggage and not yell at me in the process. It was not the joyous homecoming either of us expected. I cried indignant tears all the way home and he moped like a thundercloud.
Doc said my ankle is not broken, but badly sprained. So I get to wear a giant black breadbox strapped to my foot for a week or 2. It’s the latest rage, you know.
The whole adventure has been a hoot and 1/2. Had a cocktail on the plane to dull the throb in my ankle a bit. Arrived back in Dallas limping and tipsy. Proof that a good time was had by all.