I finally gave in and did my exercise video when my husband was home. Something about doing all sorts of strange body maneuvers while trying to keep up with the lady on the tv who is pretending to talk directly to you is just awkward. I’ve held off, not caring to be observed in this strange ritual, but, with limited time yesterday, I finally just did it. Feeling embarrassed despite my gracious husband’s eyes being glued to the computer screen because he knew I didn’t want to be laughed at, I was glad when it was done. I got ready to leave the house, and headed out the door with bags and coffee in hand.
The steps looked wet. They were. Under the water was ice. I know this because down I went, four concrete stairs down, landing on my backside. Everything in my hands stayed there, but my coffee went splashing and I looked like I’d peed my pants.
Blaine saw the whole thing.
How is it that the man stood by me for six births, has seen me do countless stupid things in the ten years we’ve been married, forgiven me for all my faults, and this is so stinking embarrassing?