Yesterday was the Friday 13th of all Mondays. It started out bad and ended worse. While getting my face on (and believe me, you wouldn't want to see me without it - all nerves and muscles and junk) I dropped my eyelash curler into the toilet.
After I fished it out, I secretly wondered if perhaps soaking it in a vat of lysol, it may actually be salvageable. Maybe. Let us remember it was 6:30 am. I've had this curler for FIVE years. It's awesome. It's small, compact, one of those plastic ones with a lever instead of pincers that pull out your eyelashes one by one in a torturous dance. It rocked. Anyway, I digress.
As I stood there with this bacteria laden thing in my hand, contemplating it's future in my makeup bag, I dropped it onto the ceramic tiles where it shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. I *should,* at this point, have gone back to bed. The day was a write off already, I assure you.
However, I pulled up my argyle socks, donned the plaid hightops and hit the streets. After a freezing walk to my class building on a sunny, sunny day - I entered the english department with my backpack in place and sunglasses over my eyes. At which time, I got a text message. Which, sounds like the day was looking up, right? Popularity can rescue the worst of all Mondays. I was actually feeling better as I traipsed down the stairs. Right before I stepped out into thin air and came crashing down on the marble floor.
Yes. I? Fell. Down the stairs. In front of other people. I smashed my knee and twisted my ankle, and the damned 45 lb backpack pulled a muscle in my shoulder. Oh, and I smashed my pride. Of course. Pulverized like a little clove of garlic. It truly had no chance.
I won't go on - cause I can't top it. My knee hurts - but it looks pretty. If you like purple and blue. The rest of the day went to hell in a handbasket. It ended with me curled up in the armchair in my living room - crying like a baby.