And I'm not afraid to say it.
At least as long as saying it won't hurt me.
My most recent attack - there I was on the streets of Brooklyn. Looking all Saturday morning cool, jeans, t-shirt and bandana. Wheeling my cart full of clean laundry back home from the laundromat. Feeling virtuous at the thought of fresh sheets and towels. Oh yeah, I was rockin'.
So, the fates decide that I am all-together too confident, and I trip over a broken bit of sidewalk. The cart tips over and I end up sprawled, on my hands and knees on top of the cart somehow. (Still not sure how the laws of physics worked out in that case...) bags of laundry are rolling around. And then, literally to add insult to injury, a voice comes to me from on high. (I was in front of a stoop.) "Was it clean or dirty?"
Not, "Are you ok?"
Not, "Can I give you a hand?"
Not, even "Wow, that really sucks."
Sheesh. Some people