Wendy S Hales

I wake knowing it's going to be busy. Not like, lots to do busy, but the holy henna someone pass me a frigging fire extinguisher, busy.
“I'm ready”, I think as I pull on my big-girl-panties and hard-hat, bomb survival grade git-er-done hat. Of course, I add make-up, an adorable outfit, my hair went perfect--game day face ON.
For the most part the day was a piece of cake. No stress … until. WHAM! My world falls away and I stare down a cliff that grows deeper by the millisecond. “S'all good, this is it. I-I-I'm r-r-ready.” Yep, the stutter was a hell of a clue.
Deep breaths, bouncing, air punching. “I AM PUMPED, BABY! I can totally rock this shiz like a boss, biotch”, then … I jump.
The back of my big-girl-panties gets caught on a branch mid way down, leaving me hanging from a wedgie with an avalanche of rubble pounding the shit out of my git-er-done hard hat. Andddd, just when I'm sure the crack of my ass is going to be split up my spine, I hear the dreaded, RRIIPPP.
The swan dive I had intended took on the appearance of a spastic free-fall straight out of a Road-Runner cartoon. I'm sure my bulging eyes and flailing limbs were coyote authentic, though I doubt the screaming vocabulary coming out of the hole below nose would have been fit for children.
“Thank you sweet universe.” The bottom came into sight. “Yes … wait … oh damn. This is going to leave a mark.” An ungraceful landing, together with a giant plume of dust, ended my ordeal. Well, except for the inevitable groan. The horror of having to rise up to assess the damage, face the resulting aftermath … and, long, painful recovery. I'll be sitting on my broomstick side-saddle for a week!
But-- hell yeah, “I live!” My shouted elation is muffled by a burped up lung.
visit me at: http://www.wendyshales.com