Esprit de l'escalier

Sometimes I wonder if calling myself Girl Clumsy has turned my life into something of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Yesterday, while working at Parliament House, I fell down this flight of stairs.

It was about 10 steps all up that I tumbled down, smashing headfirst into the wall at the foot of the staircase.

Now doctors were seen, and it would appear I'm mostly fine, nothing broken, just a bit banged up.

But of course, I REALLY should have thought about my first post-accident tweet a little more carefully.



I should have made the obvious joke about how my nickname is Girl Clumsy and what-do-you-know-I-just-fell-down-the-stairs-omg.

Because over half the responses I got included a variation on that very joke.

Now before you label me a nasty bitch - I was very grateful people took the time to respond to me, and pass on good wishes. It was very kind.

But it did mean scrolling through tweet after tweet reminding me of my own tragic maladroitness.

Because the thing is - this isn't even my first fall down stairs (although it is probably the most dramatic). I fell down the front stairs at a radio station I used to work for, ripping a large hole in my shin. And Christmas before last I tripped and fell about five stairs after an ImproMafia end-of-year party. I was so upset about looking like a complete numpty in front of my friends, that I charged off home for the after-party, wiping furious tears away from my eyes.

The practical realities of being a bumbling fool can get you down. But maybe that's all my own fault. Maybe I'm writing my destiny just a bit too definitively.

Maybe I need to call myself Girl Elegant. Girl Stability. Girl Agile. Girl In-Complete-Control-of-Her-Physicality. Girl NOT-A-Complete-F***ing-Disaster.

Because the way I'm going, it won't be long before I'll have to change my nickname to Girl Cripple. Or "Gripple", for short.