Priorities

Here's a funny story for you...

I was being a good girlfriend and picked Greg up a case of beer before I went home Wednesday night. We didn't have any in the house and I know how he likes his beer and I was feeling like being nice. Or something. At any rate, I bought a case of bottles. I also stopped at Taco Bell cuzz he wanted tacos.

(It should probably be noted that I was dressed all girl like again. I even had on girl shoes with heels! Remember that, it comes into play later)

I get home and briefly consider making Greg come out to get the beer. I decide against it cuzz I'm the awesome girlfriend! I can do it all! So, I gather my purse (read: duffel bag), the tacos from hell and get into the backseat to get the beer. I make it up the stairs of the porch and kick the screen door to make Greg open the door for me.

It had snowed that day and night and the porch had not been cleaned off. I should've known right then that this was not going to end well.

Greg started to open the door. I stepped back a bit to make room.

And then I began to fall.

Greg said it looked like I was just kinda sliding down the railing. In reality, I was desperately trying to hold on to the railing to keep myself from falling all the way down the porch. I failed.

My hand got caught in the railing. I scraped my pinky and ring fingers relatively badly and thought that I had possibly broken them. I have a goose egg bruise on my hip, a bruised scratch on my thigh and a bruised knee. My ass feels like it's a giant bruise, though I have yet to see discoloration. My fat roll feels like a giant bruise as well and may or may not look the way it feels. I can't tell.

Why is the fat roll bruised you ask? Simple.

Priorities.

When I was falling, I managed to maneuver myself to catch the case of beer with my stomach. I think it may have been an unconscious attempt to free my uterus and ovaries from their horrid captivity.

But hey, I caught the beer. Out of 24 bottles, not a damned one broke.

It's all about priorities.