I was due for a fall. Not karmically – or maybe even, but it had been a while since I actually fell down and went boom. Couple of years maybe? In any case, for the last little while I have managed to get from point A to point B with a minimum of incident. My secret? Focus, lower heels, and keeping alcoholic intake to a moderate level.
All that came to a literal crashing halt on Friday. We were invited out to dinner at Toronto’s most fabulous new restaurant. Natch. If I’m going down, it would have to be where the elite meet to eat. Dinner was beyond delicious, and the wine flowed like, well, wine. When we finished, we were invited to repair to the lounge to continue the evening. I took my glass in hand and proceeded down the hallway, past all the beautiful people looking on, and as I glided past the bar I felt my feet skid out from under me.
It happened in slow motion. First, the awareness that I was no longer on my feet, and then the knowledge that there would be considerable impact. The truly explosive moment was when my glass flew out of my hand and shattered into a thousand pieces. I was up in a flash – so fast that John, who was coming up behind me, never even saw the fall. All he saw were craning necks and the staff hovering around me. They sat me down on a beautiful white leather club chair, upon which I began to bleed rather profusely. Fingers, elbow, knee. They offered me ice, towels, bandages and disinfectant. All I really wanted was another drink. Once we determined that I hadn’t severed an artery, John took my to the washroom and to wash off the blood and tape up the cuts. When we emerged, I was flagged down by an old acquaintance: “Maureen! We saw you go down!” Of course you did. Everyone did. If I were truly famous, it would be on TMZ.
Anyway, no real damage done. A great evening often involves minor lacerations. I just hope they got the blood out of their club chairs.