How to look (and feel) your age

People often wonder why I only seem to wear comfortable shoes... none of those girlie torture devices. I mean, why wouldn't I want to look more appealing to the opposite sex and accentuate my gams?

The answer is really simple: I am a complete clutz.

Case in point, yesterday day and night I was out enjoying my birthday... not "enjoying" it too much, but in dignified moderation. Age has taught me how to pace myself, at least.

What it hasn't taught me is how to walk in shoes that are designed to trip me.

The funny thing is that I even predicted it when we headed out for the day, saying, "I never wear these shoes, because they always make me trip... today should prove amusing, at least!" Not heeding my own foreknowledge of these terribly designed sandals, I decided that the beautiful spring-like day that was my birthday deserved to be gussied up a bit with some glimmery, strappy footwear. What could go wrong?

Well, other than having a difficult time keeping pace, really nothing went wrong for a good 8 hours. Then suddenly, when attempting to cross the street (ironically in my neighborhood of 15 years ago), one of the sick bastards got hung up on the edge of a loose sewer cover and I ended up on all fours faster than David Hasselhoff diving for a burger.

My left knee seems to have taken the brunt of the fall, followed by my right wrist and ankle, which are now hurting more than my poor knee is today (along with a severely bruised ego).

Had I been drinking? Sure, but it was only about 5 drinks in as many hours (plus water), so I was by no means drunk... if I was, it would have hurt a lot less, I'm guessing.

So then I spent the rest of the night hobbling around, bemoaning my bloody knee and ripped pants, while cursing the day that I ever bought those shoes. "They're meeting the trash as soon as I get home! Forget about donating them to Goodwill, because I don't want anyone else being cursed by these evil, evil things!"

I now present, the only pics from my 37th birthday: