Two years ago today, I got FULL justification for the paralyzing fear of heights that I discussed on here JUST YESTERDAY.
I was carefully priming (and do NOT get me started on the endless suckiness of working with oil-based primer) around a window on a medium-high ladder when a mild gust of wind almost grabbed my little Tupperware container of primer out of my hand and in the ensuing seconds of trying not to fall or spill primer or yell words that begin with F, I managed to fall, spill NO primer, drop more F-bombs than a first-time skydiver and rip a massive hole in my painting shorts, which must have shrunk in the dryer because they had gotten too tight in the waist anyway. Yeah. It must be the dryer. But back to me: I fell-jumped a good 8 feet, landed squarely on the little makeshift grave for Shadow, my nephew's first dog who was killed by a hit-and-run driver, and got an 8.7 from the judges because I didn't stick my landing.
And I remain to this day shaken (not stirred) over one of my worst fears COMING TRUE, but I do remember my boys finding unexpected enjoyment from the very breezes that precipitated my fall.
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