The Hitch in My Step

I like to move briskly. Plodding along sets my teeth on edge, so my tendency is to gallop. The plus side is, I get lots done. The downside? Sometimes I drop things, or occasionally fall down. I’m quick, but not necessarily graceful. I can fake graceful, but it doesn’t offer me much protection.

The other day, there was an incident at my house. I was heading (briskly) into my bedroom when the left belt loop of my newish jeans got snagged on the door handle. It’s a lever type, and at the very end, it folds itself up like a seashell. I’d never noticed this before, but it literally stopped me in my tracks.

Technically, I shouldn’t have been wearing the jeans. They’re a little snug, but since I only  bought them six months ago, I like to pretend they still fit. Because they’re newish, I didn’t want to pull away and rip off the belt loop. On the other hand, I was stuck. And I was by myself. My husband was a thousand miles away, which always seems to be the case when I end up in one of these situations.

Was the universe telling me to slow down? Was it saying that I’m a little ‘stuck’ these days? Or was I simply the victim of another weird happening, like when my exercise ball got trapped under my treadmill and lifted me into the air.  Whatever it was, I could only rely on myself for help.

The loops are small, so there wasn’t much wiggle room, especially given the jean’s close fit. I tried rotating my hip, but it only made it worse. I could not get that loop out of the little curly end. Pulling down my jeans was not an option, so I tried unzipping them. Finally, after ten frustrating minutes, I got the loop free from the door handle.

I should carry my cell phone at all times. Highly inconvenient, terribly annoying, but at least I could call for help. At the very least, if I’m going to move briskly through my life, I’d better keep my eyes open. Watch out for exercise balls rolling under my treadmill, or for old meat stuck to the barbecue. (It had me thinking one of the neighbors had died and was busily decomposing.) And those pesky door handles. For now, I’ll wear jeans without loops, or at least make sure they fit. But if you don’t see me around, ask the folks next door to check up on me. After all, neighborly concern should go both ways.

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