I want them to stub their toes on the coffee table or mash their faces against doors they forgot to close.
As you can probably imagine, I don’t belong in that fancy group of well-coordinated showoffs.
I am the type who has a full-frontal crash with a wall, as if the wall just suddenly appeared in front of me. I can fall up a flight of stairs, too.
One time, while leaning too far out the open car door to search for the seat belt buckle thing, I promptly fell out of my car seat onto the asphalt. Since my attention was on pulling down my skirt, I bonked my head on the edge of the car door.
When I later walked into the office, I looked like I had been cage fighting instead of calmly eating a Pop-Tart before the fight with the seat belt.
Looking back now, it probably was not one of my most brilliant ideas to gather friends and go roller skating. But no one has ever praised me for brilliance or maturity.
Like I mentioned a week ago, I put this Rowdy Wrinkle social group together, so people over age 50 have new friends and new plans, other than which chips to eat in front of the TV. I was also thinking about how breast cancer stuff has limited my mobility for almost three years. I can finally move around pretty well. So I just want to get going! Have some adventures!
You won’t find me on a golf course. I can’t get invested in whether the dumb ball goes in the right hole.
I can’t stand board games. I don’t do bird watching or yoga. I would rather do housework than work a puzzle.
No, this moron wanted to roller-skate again.
The minute my skates were laced, I secretly knew that I didn’t feel sturdy. But please revisit the part where I admitted that I am not known for brilliance and maturity.
I assured myself that I could do this. After all, it’s only been maybe 40 years since I roller-skated.
“You’re just rusty,” I thought as I wobbled toward the neon lights.
Maybe 17 bad skating moves later, I involuntarily did the splits. And there was absolutely nothing fun about that.
“You are not rusty, Sherri,” I muttered as I tried to get up before other skaters turned me into a speed bump. ”You are stupid. That’s what you are.”
When I finally got back to my feet, I realized a new nightmare. I had to pee. However, trying to pee while wearing skates turned into an Olympic event.
“Lord, please don’t let me fall off, knock myself out by bonking my head on the toilet and then roll right under the stall door directly into the line of skater traffic, with my pants to my knees.”
Thankfully I made it through that incredible stress.
To calm my nerves I stood on the carpet border outside of the rink to talk to my friend. One minute, we were laughing. The next minute, I was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling tiles.
That’s how I injured my wrist.
It’s still on ice.
I learned that I am not the Rowdiest Wrinkle anymore.
Sherri Coner is an award-winning journalist and humor writer who speaks to women’s groups. To learn about her books for women and to join her on Facebook, visit www.sherriconer.com.