A couple of weeks ago, I tripped up a step and landed like a drunk hippo. There was no time to prepare for this “fall”. No warning, no tripity trip weird little arm-flailing dance before my demise. It was harsh and quick, and not in a pleasant way. I fell smack bang in my driveway. My knees are still recovering and I’m grateful that the school bus full of kids at the end of the driveway didn’t witness my demise.

My question is, when does the phrase “I fell over” get changed to “I had a fall” and who decides when that happens? Somehow the word placement changes the whole vibe. 

Saying you “fell over” incites that you were playing sport or being active or whimsical or drunk on the dance floor. It’s youthful and often doesn’t end up in major injury. If you topple over getting out of a chair or lose your footing putting your undies on does that count as “I fell over” or “had a fall?” Is there an age bracket or is it classed by activity or injury? I’m still sporting scabby knees and a bruised ego, but if I’d broken a hip or a wrist would my incident be reclassified to the old lady term? Would I be starting the slow walk to Old Lady Town? If I ever fell over again, would it be a case of… “oh my god, she had another fall, bring in the zimmer frame….STAT!”?

I have a friend who falls over quite frequently. It amuses me more than it should. She’s had a few rippers. I’m thinking she is definitely heading towards the “had a fall” category. She hasn’t done any major damage to herself yet, and she’s often taking the dog for a walk when she flies tits up, so maybe she is safe for now. We were chatting on the phone once and I heard a weird noise followed by my friend’s voice yelling out “I’ll call you back in a minute”. Yup… tits up again, sending her phone launching into the air as I merrily chatted away to no-one.

While I’m on the topic of ageing. Why is mother nature turning me into a man? Actually, she’s turning me into my 15-year-old son. Pimples and random chin hairs. Who knew that I would have so much in common with my firstborn? “Pass me the Clearasil and shaving cream will you darl? Mummas got a mess going on”.  It’s not quite that horrific yet but be warned… At some stage in your 4th decade, you will go to bed with a face as smooth as a baby butt, and wake up with an inch long hair growing out of your face. And if you’re one of the blessed ones, it will sprout out of a mole and your tears of angst for your lost youth will roll right off that hair of disgust and fall into your morning coffee. It happens. Even the most hairless of us cannot escape our destiny of carrying tweezers in the car glove box for a quick pluck in the rear-vision mirror.

Life can be cruel in the most disgusting ways. It could always be worse though. At least us women-folk don’t need to worry about being in ownership of a drooping scrotum, where every day the distance between that precious parcel and the toilet water becomes forever closer. Live with that fear. Give me chin hair any day. 

Until next time, stay upright and hairless.

M