Pride Cometh Before A Wipeout

Took my dog out for a walk and wore my skates.

This is not how it went down.

I knew this was going to be a near-fatal decision but decided I needed to face fears eventually. WWTHD?  Tony Hawk would certainly go for it, and so did I. 

Matters would not be so difficult if my dog were serene, mid-to-small-sized and intelligent. Unfortunately, she is none of these things. 

(Case in point: I came downstairs before my graduation last Saturday dressed in my black cap & gown. My dog went BALLISTIC and barked as I've never seen her bark before. Her tail kept her stomach guarded as she dove around the kitchen table, warning everyone that an intruder was in our midst. Meanwhile, I kept calling her name, attempting to encourage two of her brain cells to become reacquainted. It took several long moments for her to finally come to me, and even then she was quite suspicious.) 

In addition to being large and in charge, she is also quite skittish. The first half of our walk consisted of her barking at my roller skates (even though I'd tried to prepare her for the identity crisis by having her watch me put my gear on and talking to her all the while) and running in front of or behind me, which did not make for much of a straight trajectory. Then she suddenly remembered herself and without a warning went into poo mode. Negotiating the poo bag and her dirt was about as difficult as expected.

Finally we settled into a rhythm, and I decided to push myself a bit. I didn't dare go faster (because that elicited the reaction of her pouncing on my skates and / or nibbling my wrist guards) but tried to hop over every other crack in the sidewalk. I was doing pretty well. A guy on a bike going past said "Hey! How's it going?" and I wanted him to ask further questions so I could explain that I played roller derby and was pretty much a badass even though I looked like Bambi on wheels (with her pet gorilla attached). I was sure he'd buy it. 

I started imagining giving a radio interview and pictured myself all chilled out in a swivel chair with the DJ eating up my words. "Yeah, this is ___________ and I play for the _____________ derby dolls..."

It was just then, one house from my own, that disaster struck. 

I don't even know how it struck. All I knew was I was going down. The shit went flying and so did I. Thankfully not on the same trajectory. 

I didn't really get hurt. At all. (A scraped thumb is nothing to post on Facebook about!) But I did find it amusing that my radio interview was cut short. It's rescheduled for next month.