Walking into doors and why I might be in therapy for life.

I’m starting to realize that this blog may inadvertently be giving way too much attention to one book in particular. But I just have to mention it again because my life will never be the same after a conversation I had about it yesterday:

Dad: “Well, I’d just finished these two books on the FBI and the CIA, and they were pretty depressing so I was looking for something to read. And I kept hearing about it.”

Me: “Oh God, no…”

Dad: “And so I went on Amazon to see what it was about.”

Me: “Oh God.”

Dad: “And, well, it seemed to be about a lot of S&M.”

And then I threw up a little in my mouth. Because there’s nothing a 30-something year old woman wants to hear more than her dad talking about an S&M book. Thankfully, though, this didn't sound like something he wanted to read, which is a good thing because I really don't need to go to therapy for the rest of my life. Also, thanks for the mild stroke and the seventeen new grey hairs on my head, dad.

Dear dad, let’s go back to the good ole’ days before I could never un-have that conversation. Love, Becky.

Also, today I walked into a glass door. To be fair, the glass was very clean and looked just like an air door! And glass doors and I have a long, sordid history of not getting along, so it was only a matter of time. The problem is that I went at it with some force, and there was someone behind me who actually yelped when my face planted into the not-air door. I just laughed and said “Oh, that happens to me all the time.” But innocent bystander just looked at me as if that was not a normal thing to say or have happen to you "all the time."

But apparently “That happens all the time” is my go-to phrase for embarrassment because recently I also fell off of the treadmill at my gym.

I know, right?

It was actually rather graceful, to be honest. I mean, if you’re going to fall off of a treadmill with some speed, you may as well completely flail around and scream while grabbing at the air and landing as if you’re on a crucifix. Except for instead of being on a crucifix, you just sacrificed yourself to the hard, concrete floor with your face and your arms and legs spread out in a panic move gone wrong.

So I laid there like that for a second to figure out if maybe there was a chance that nobody saw me. And when I felt confident that this was totally fine and normal, I started to get up as a guy rushed over and said “Are you ok?!” I just laughed and said “Oh yeah, this happens all the time!”

Aaaaaand you’re welcome. Now you can go out into the world today and feel better about who you are. Happy Monday!

I was very graceful and flexible at a young age. As you can see, I m stretching in anticipation of what I can only assume is a very complicated dismount from my dad s lap based upon the focus on my face.