Did I Mention I'm A Klutz?

There's a Banana Republic dangerously close to my place of employment. During my lunch hour yesterday I hastened over in hopes of getting my shop on. Dejectedly exiting empty handed, I crossed over 6th Avenue and darted across Carmine.

Or, at least I tried to before the pavement attacked me.

I was donning my cute, yet comfortable, peekaboo-toe pumps. Normally, these shoes do not pose a problem navigating the myriad of pedestrian obstacles NYC boasts. However, about 3/4 of the way across Carmine, my 4-inch stacked wood heel got caught in something. WHUMPH! I went down. Hard. In the middle of the street, my handbag vomiting it's contents all over the pavement as my outstretched left palm absorbed most of the impact.

FUUUUUUUUUUCK! I yelled in shock that I wasn't seriously hurt while glancing to the right to be sure a cab wasn't barreling it's way toward my spilled self. Tourists were gaping at me. The Middle Eastern newsstand guy was dumbfounded. As I tried to collect myself, a guy my age came over to help retrieve my wayward trident white, p-funks and obnoxiously large sunglasses.

I meekly offered a thanks and "Wow, the pavement must be in attack mode."

Feeling like a complete and utter klutz I am, I dusted myself off, ascertained the growing bruise to my palm and noted the scraped up left ankle. And got the hell outta there, dodging into the nearest nail salon on Bleeker for a 10 minute back rub.

So a big thank you to the good samaritan and a big FU to the newsstand operator and the fuckwit tourists.

PS - Today I'm in flats.