Lessons from A Fall

Copyright 2012 by Sherri Woodbridge
Copyright 2012 by Sherri Woodbridge

today.

hot.

chances of no rain.

no breeze.

just hot.

but a beautiful day.

 

so i decided to wash down the house.

rid the structure of black widows that seemed to be crawling into every crack.

every crevice.

every hole.

every opening.

everywhere.

 

did i mention i hate underwire bras?

yes.

that’s important to know.

i only have one.

because it’s still decent

too decent to not feel guilty of discarding.

and today, i was wearing just that one.

that’s important to know.

 

i sprayed the sides of the structure.

the windows.

the overhangs.

 

i killed one.

two.

three.

four.

five black widows as big as my pinky.

 

i felt like the exterminator in Aracnophobia

and watched them sizzle against the wood

in the 105 degree sun

while spraying them with poison.

 

it was spine chilling.

but i did it.

 

and then it was time to move hose,

from the back.

to the front.

 

as i stood up

after bending over to unhook the hose

from the faucet,

it happened.

 

i fell.

i took three steps forward –

and i fell.

 

and i was reminded of the little teapot

who was short and stout

who was tipped out and poured out

and i felt just like her –

short and stout,

tipped and toppled over

and poured out all over the cement driveway.

 

and the broom stick i was holding,

instead of bracing me and giving me support,

toppled with me

and jabbed into my left breast

and the only thing one can think of

when confronted in such a situation is

“did anyone see me?”

 

with pride intact,

i slowly stood

surprising myself

with the lack of tears

and carried on

with the task at hand.

 

and as i began to spray again

i rubbed the sore spot,

quite certain

i at least badly bruised,

if not cracked, the rib

in the spot aforementioned.

 

as i rubbed it,

i noticed the wire in my brazier

was badly bent

where the broomstick handle had hit.

 

i changed from my pest control uniform

into my S.W.A.T. team member uniform,

for at that moment i felt like one

who had been shot

and saved by the bullet proof vest –

(in my case the brazier)

i had been wearing.

 

instead of hating that underwire bra

i suddenly was oh so thankful for it –

after all, it saved my life

(at least my breast).

 

so how does this have anything to do with Parkinson’s disease?

 

ladies, it may be safer to wear underwire bras.

at least if your carrying a broom stick

while hunting for black widows.

 

it’s been tested.

and they work.

i have the ‘v’ shaped wire to prove it.

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