Slice of humble pie

Maybe it's just selective memory, but somehow being on crutches way back when didn't seem like such a big deal. Well, except for that one mortifying Bambi incident along the wretched green tile floors of the PJH hallway ... (i.e. rain-wet rubber crutch tips meet rain-wet tile floor and all appendages spread in opposite directions, obligating mortified, crippled girl to crawl across to retrieve said flung crutch in front of jeering adolescent onlookers). Other than that slightly traumatic incident, though, I pretty much remember it being a cinch.

Seeing as "cinch" would not quite be the word of choice this time 'round, I have come to the conclusion that there are four possible options for this difference in experience:

1. I've lost my youthful spryness
2. People in Geneva are far more sympathetic than those in Kitsap
   
3. Mother's helping hand was taken utterly for granted
4. Selective memory

To provide but a few (consecutive) examples of these latest reminders of humility:

The home-apartment shuffle (Get it? Like the supermarket shuffle??)
The apartment building requires a code to unlock the front door. Said code must be entered in the call box to the left of the double doors; friendly automated voice says 'You may now enter'; and door on the far right is unlocked. For 5 seconds. For the record, five seconds does NOT allow enough time for the slow, elderly, klutzy or otherwise physically challenged to get back over to open the door. Repeat shenanigan shuffle + lock out scenario 3 times over before mastering the art of standing at call box while using right crutch to push open the door... from four feet away.

Para-Olympics
What do you get when you take two fine women, two bad feet and two pairs of crutches ... and put them in the same office? Lots of squeeky crutch noises, many doting colleagues, one antsy insurance administrator, unlimited desktop tea deliveries, gracious lunch-time grocery orders... and well-attended hallway races. It's now been duly verified: I am the certified Crutch Klutz, and the slowest one at that. At least mine have padded handles.

Old men laughing
Sweat-drenched crutch girl pauses on street corner across from neighborhood bar for a much needed breather. Look up to find three elderly men--one of whom is apparently a crutch friend--looking over and laughing. Yes, indeed, the 70 year old smoker masters these sticks better than I can, no breaks needed.

Picture of pity
I was in the home stretch, 50 feet to go. It was a heavy sigh of releif/big gasp for air. I didn't really even realize it came out... but apparently the passing neighbor guy did.

"Just watching makes me pity you! Have courage, and good luck!"

This was immediately followed by second passerby trying to avoid eye contact as he unsuccessfully stifled a smirk ... followed by the mailman courteously stepping out of my way and saying:

"It's not easy! Have courage, and good luck!"

Ok, so I get it. I DO look as pathetically weak as I feel. I'm glad I can bring a smile to your day--you've certainly put a good self-appreciating laugh in mine.

Courtesy calls/humble pie down your throat
TGIH: Thank God I'm home. It's Crutch Girl's lucky day--the neighbors are standing by the code box. They kindly enter code, I dutifully begin the fight with my battle sticks and the door. Suddenly, kind older-like man appears out of nowhere to hold said door open. My kind reply? "Thank you, kind sir, I really appreciate it". His response? A full three minute raised-voice lecture on how:

"You're just like everyone else in your generation ... you're too proud and independent to ask for help ... you have to grow up and get over yourself before you do even more damage ... (now turns to neighbor couple at door) what happened to common courtesy and helping people out ... are you blind? ... use your head!"

Yes, yes, thank you kind sir, forgive thy neighbors and I will take my (double?) slice of humble pie.