Falling for Mark3

Ya know, for someone who is single, looking for a relationship and has an actual prospect in her life, I certainly don’t do myself any favors.

I was over at Mark3’s house again the other night and had brought an overnight bag (yes, an overnight bag – don’t worry, it’s cool – he suggested I bring it so that I wouldn't have to drive home late at night and could just get ready for work there the next morning). His walk-out basement has been converted to the master bedroom, and so I was taking my bag down there.

As I get about halfway down the stairs, Kaya, his cute and capricious, yet kitty-killing dog decides she wants to go downstairs, too. Painting a clearer picture for you: Kaya is an awesome dog, but she is half-pit bull/half-lab and 60 pounds of muscle, so when Kaya wants to go somewhere, she’s going – anyone in her way, be damned. On this particular night, it turns out that I am that anyone – and I’m walking down a flight of stairs. And wearing heels.

There is nothing good about this picture…
 
Out of nowhere, the Tasmanian Devil Dog comes barreling after me, bounds down the stairs and as she races past me, she totally knocks my left leg out from under me. I go tumbling -- head first.
 
Mid-flight, I somehow manage to get an arm out in front of me before my head smashes into either the terracotta tile at the base of the stairs or the glass patio door just a few feet further – so the sole sliver of good news is that I was, at least, spared a gruesome death or lifetime of facial reconstructive surgery.

My overnight bag also went flying, and the bag had not been fully zipped shut, so an arsenal of various personal munitions were propelled across the room: vanilla-mango body spray, a push-up bra, tampons, a roll of masking tape (no idea why that was in the bag) and an assortment of other intimate toiletries that every woman so painstakingly tries to hide from her new suitor in an effort to maintain the mystique surrounding her daily metamorphosis from a drooling, bed-headed morning mess to a woman that he’d actually like to go out with again.

I shudder to think what this whole scene must have looked like from Mark3’s perspective. He was coming down the stairs behind me so all he can do is watch in slow motion as this chick whom he would have described ten minutes prior as “sexy” gracelessly regresses to a caricature of herself, nose-diving down his basement steps, peppering his bedroom with all sorts of lady items, and ending up splayed across the landing with her skirt over her head and one fully-exposed ass cheek peeking out of underwear that went half-wedgy during the tumult.

He rushes over to me, genuinely concerned, asking if I’m ok, and likely bracing himself for the impending awkwardness of having to tell me it’s over while spoon-feeding me applesauce in a convalescent home. Of course, Kaya then comes over, sniffs my hair and licks my face…’cause the only thing that could have possibly made me any sexier in that moment was a glob of doggie slobber across my forehead.

“Geez, you only had one beer,” Mark3 said.
“Huh? Kaya knocked my leg out from under me!” I countered.
Mark3 had, of course, missed the part where Killer Kaya clipped me, thinking instead that this was all my own dopey doing.
“Sure she did,” he said, winking at me as if to say that my secret would be safe with him.
 
Awesome. Not only did I just cartwheel down Mark3’s stairs in front of him, but he thinks I fell on my own.
 
I escaped relatively unscathed. I tweaked my ankle, but the only thing severely injured was my pride.
 
Now, I openly admit: god didn't bless me with coordination, and I’ve grown accustomed to laughing at myself whenever I slip, stumble, trip or tumble. But this wasn’t funny. This was frightening. This was one of those falls you see and you don’t snicker – you call 911. But no matter whether it's horrific or hilarious, it's still not a good look. Period.
 
I’ll say this though: most people put on a show when they first begin to date. It’s all one big façade – hair’s perfect, clothes are perfect, guard’s always up, never giving the other person so much as the slightest glimpse of their unbecoming qualities. I, on the other hand, put my best foot forward…and then tripped over it. I’ve pretty much just put it all out there. In just several weeks Mark3 has managed to see most of my good qualities – and I’d venture to say that he’s seen pretty much all of my bad qualities. And still he continues to call; still he continues to ask me out. So at least he knows what he’s getting into and at least he likes me despite.