A funeral fluke.

My husband's grandpa died last week. For the past 7.5 years, he's been like a grandpa to me. The first time I met him, he insisted I call him "grandpa." Sweet, sweet man. Before he passed he told his wife specifically what he wanted to happen. Cremation. Celebration of life. Food. Fun.

So what does this have to do with me falling/acting stupid/dropping something? I'm getting there.

The service was beautiful. It was full of heart-felt stories about Cliff and the legacy he left behind. There was laughing and crying and every other emotional output you can think of. We headed to the church for lunch where we sat next to grandpa's son--Junior, his friend--the vet, and his neighbor. Nice guys, good reminiscent conversation.

Chris pulled out my chair for me and as I lowered myself to the seat, my exposed knee (I wore a mid-length dress and cowboy boots. What? Grandpa would have loved it.) bashed into some metal bar under the table. Why do fold-out church tables always have this bar? I'm no engineer, but I feel like perhaps a table design not involving metal supports ALL THE WAY AROUND THE EDGE could be implemented. Or maybe I'm just looking for a way to buffer the shock of my oblivion (?). Nonetheless, it hurt and I swore. (I'm deeply regretful of this, Mormon church.) The bruise is green and centered by an unsightly cut.

Oh but that wasn't it.

I ate my ham and three different assortments of funeral potatoes (not kidding). Then it came time for the main course: CAKE. I pressed down on my fork with my pointer finger on the side, trying to be ladylike.
 

What happened next is confusing. I'm not sure how it came about, but my accidental strength somehow BROKE the plastic fork into pieces, all while cake soared elegantly through the air, landing in the hair and on the nice, collared shirts of grandpa's friends and family.

My profuse apologies were followed with jokes and unaccusing laughter. Thank goodness no one was offended and /or horrified. Grandpa wasn't there so someone had to make fun of the blunders.

Two falls in a row

Anyone out there anymore? Eh, if not--oh well. I still like this blog and still have plenty of accidents to post about. Time was not my friend there for a while, though. Now I will make time to post these silly accidents. Because it's fun. To make fun. Or something...


Okay, so a couple weeks ago we went to a friend's wedding. Gorgeous. Perfect. Stunning wedding. It was held in the fancy backyard of a large Kaysville, UT home. Waterfalls, booze, dancing, BBQ. Completely dreamy.

But I wore heels. And backyards mean lots o lots o grass. Do I even have to finish the story?

We were doing great the entire night. Chris and I even slow danced. I even had 3 glasses of wine. The night was looking promising. Would this perhaps be one of those rare, accident-free moments? Could I just relax and be proud of myself for rockin those 4-inch stilettos? Perhaps I'd matured into a poised woman. Maybe embarking upon marriage brought non-frazzled, non-clumsy girl to the surface. 

Um, no.

On the way out those damn heels (like they always do) let me down. This tumble was special, though. I fell in a slow, almost graceful manner. Foot roll. Then knees. Then hands. {At this point I'm just sitting there in a dog-crawl stance.}

Chris laughed. I laughed. He helped me up and that was that. Until we got to the grassy curb where the car was parked. BOOYAH. Two in one night. This may be a record for me. Two, 100% feet-swept-out-from-under-me falls in a matter of 1 minute.

 image cred: http://karaandgroomzilla.blogspot.com/