I have many strengths, being coordinated is not one of them. Most of the time my lack of coordination is a simple result of me being me. Occasionally, there are other contributing factors.
Several years ago, I was watering my lawn – which I do manually – and had to move the sprinkler/hose. Instead of turning off the water, I opted to run through the sprinkler, move it, and run back to the house. Halfway through my mission, all was good; the rest of the way, not so much. As I sprinted toward the house, my flip flop blew out. Apparently, leaving my flip flops outside all day compromised the structure and, between my daring dash and weak rubber, my flips flopped. I ended up sliding across the sidewalk like a baseball player sliding into home. Unlike a baseball player, nobody was cheering and I didn’t score any points for this move. Instead, I ditched the flops and ran into the house to administer first aid to various parts of my body. Luckily, I had alcohol for the pain.
Fast forward to last week and I again experienced a situation with my flip flops. I decided to brave my workhood – a bit dodgy regardless of your footwear – and as I walked through the neighborhood I encountered sprinklers. Being that this neighborhood is on a very busy street, I opted to stay on the sidewalk and take my chances with the sprinklers. Although this prevented an auto/pedestrian incident, it did not prevent incidents in general. One flip flop hit a slick part of the sidewalk and, in order to avoid looking like the roadkill I had walked by, I attempted to stop my flop with my other flip. My attempt, though successful, still resulted in injury. As any good, wounded soldier would do in foreign territory, I marched on. Blood streaming. Pride beaming. My flips may have flopped, but my faceplant was stopped and, sometimes, that is all that matters.