Urine trouble

There’s a real struggle to becoming a New Yorker. While I thought it might be missing my Texas-sized kitchen and bathroom (I do!), it turns out my main problem is remaining upright. My other problem is urine.

A friend stopped by for a visit last night, and we decided to walk a couple blocks to grab a pizza. On the way back, while crossing the street, I went to step off the curb and stepped into the hem of my pants. I didn’t hit the ground for about 8 feet. So it wasn’t so much of a fall… it was more of a dance with an unfortunate ending.

So unfortunate, in fact, that two women ran to see if I was okay. And the look on my friend’s face as he exclaimed, “OH MY GOD!” is one I’ll never forget.

He helped me up, and we continued home. I discovered that I had injured both knees, both hands, the top of my left foot, my right arm and left wrist.

In addition to the great conversation and yummy pizza, I *may* have increased my wine intake a tad (don’t judge) for medicinal purposes.

It turns out that school children, emergency vehicles, construction workers, honking taxis, and crazy street people have zero respect for the dead (okay fine…the injured/hungover), and I now realize I will not have to set my alarm for the duration of my stay.

I also have a responsibility to take Cholula out first thing. Back in Texas, taking out the dog requires putting on a bra (and I do that more for others than myself), and that’s it. Here, I have to remember to grab my keys, put her harness and leash on (which requires an engineering degree), and after clearing 3 doors, pick her heavy French butt up and carry her down the stoop to the sidewalk.

While I had made sure to put on a bra (there are schoolchildren out there for Pete’s sake!), I had skipped a trip to the mirror altogether, and as I found myself walking (hobbling) down those steps, I was in too much pain to really care about how I looked at the moment… and then I realized I had made a critical Texas-girl mistake. I was BAREFOOT!

Here were my choices:

1) Turn around, still carrying Cholula, and without setting her down, climb the steps, unlock the first door, and then try to drag her back through the other two doors, put on my shoes, and head back out… all the while hoping she doesn’t pee on me, the carpet, or the common area.

Or

2) Step out onto that sidewalk barefoot.

I’m not going to tell you which decision I made. It really doesn’t matter. Both involve urine in amounts I’ve never dealt with.

There was no happy ending this morning folks.

 

*2017*