It Wasn't The Alcohol, I Swear

So, last night I apparently decided it was time for a quick bone density scan. Here's how I accomplished it:

I pulled into one of two empty parking spaces behind the bar at which I was meeting friends, gathered up my purse, and stepped from the car. About five strides later, my toe hit something, promptly halting all forward motion which, you guessed it, sent me crashing (palms first) onto the asphalt.

(Okay, before you think this was an alcohol-induced moment, hold on. There'll be illustrations later.)

For a split second, I lay there taking inventory. No broken bones. Bonus.

A car crept by, and a guy lowered his window to ask if I was okay. (Side note: has anyone in the entire world, since time began, answered NO in such an embarrassing situation?) "Yes, I'm fine," I assured him. Meanwhile, splayed on the ground seemed the perfect position from which to track down all the crap that flew out of my purse when I fell. Cell phone, keys, random change. I really should start heeding Blogreader Joe's admonitions to keep my purse zipped.

Anyway, I scrambled to my feet, proving my fitness to concerned onlooker car-guy, then checked for damage. Blood and bruises on my left knee, right shin, and right palm--but otherwise, nothing serious. I turned to see what had caused this potential disaster and located it right away. In a parking lot big enough to hold about eight cars, a random berm-like structure jutted out beyond one of the occupied spaces. Some clever soul had painted the top white, but left the sides natural.

Uh, hello? Thanks for making the damn thing look like a stripe!


Oh, well. As long as I didn't break any bones. And maybe I can take it as a sign osteoporosis is a long way off.