Open-toed Shoes

I have been given the constructive criticism, by my near and dear, that I move a little too quickly at times. Occasionally, this has resulted in mishaps, accidents and/or near disasters.
Case in point: one day I was going to leave to go shopping and happily put on my new shoes. It was summertime and these were the rubber, open-toed, one-strap-over-the-top-of-the foot kind of shoes. Mind you, I had not worn this particular type of footwear in the past and didn’t take time to “break them in.” I mean, seriously, I’ve been wearing shoes nearly my whole life and never had a problem.
I slipped into my new shoes, picked up my purse and my assortment of reusable totes, and headed out the back door to the garage. My typical stride is fairly rapid, so again, I gave no thought to any changes based on new shoes. All was well for the first twenty steps. Then, my right foot and the new shoe parted ways. The foot went sideways and the shoe slipped backward and I did a swan dive onto the side walk. Momentum carried my body forward and my right hand slid about three feet on the edge of the sidewalk.
Cuts on the hand are devilishly difficult to bandage. It didn’t help that I thought I was bleeding to death. But my hubby cleaned me up, wrapped my hand and all was well. I put on my “old” shoes, picked up all my various totes and continued on my day. On the way to the garage, by the way, the new shoes were deposited unceremoniously in the garbage can.
I confess, speed may have been part of that calamity, but I fully hold those shoes responsible.
Another incident occurred in our woods. This was many years ago, and we were walking with our pre-teen son. I noticed one of the many grapevines growing there because it was hanging down just over the edge of a small ravine. Perfect placement for a swing!
Without discussion, I jogged toward it and leaped to grab hold and propel myself out over the hillside. Oh, what joys of youth flooded my mind!
I went quickly enough that I just barely heard my husband say, “That might not be a good idea.” It was as he spoke that last word that the grapevine snapped and I plummeted to the hillside on my bottom.
The breath was knocked from me, and I heard nothing from above. I finally was able to turn around to see both the males in my life doubled over in laughter.
It was my last monkey-vine ride.
Last week, I bought root beer floats on the way home. This is no accident, it was a thoughtful gesture on my part. I got out of the car, placed the two floats on the car roof, and put my purse over my shoulder.
I opened the back seat door and pulled out the two bags of groceries and shut the door. That movement was apparently stunning enough to MOVE the floats off the car and into the air. Well, one went into the air, splattering me on the head and shoulders. The other slid down, pouring root beer and ice cream down the side of the car.
Perhaps speed isn’t the issue at all, but it’s thinking first? Nah, it must be the shoes. And the vine. And the floats. They are the problem!