on july 9th, i was coming down the stairs at the art hotel on my way to breakfast. cleverly, i determined early on in my relationships with both my shoes and these stairs that the three of us would never be friends, much like water sluices off the back of a nuala or a water-proof raincoat, so my shoes with these stairs. so, of course, i go down barefoot. but on this fateful morning, i could see that there were people in the breakfast room at the bottom of the stairs. wanting to not appear rude and calloused, i slipped my flip flops back on and determined to be very careful on the remaining 15 steps.
i took 1 step and fell the next 8.
the one person who saw me do it was a heavy metal grunge rocker from the netherlands. he said nothing. i said, ‘ow’.
four days later, i look like i’ve been beaten. a lot. with large slabs of marble. i try to look like i’m suffering so the other tourists will feel bad for me and call child protective services. my mom tried to convince me that i’m no longer a child. i claimed the Rubber-Glue Defense and she looked suitably chastized.
in addition to this rapidly purpling bruise the size of my hand, i received an additional injury on the 12th at the amalia hotel in delphi when performing a valiant pool rescue mission. my drowning victim elected to sting me rather than thank me. i haven’t been stung by a bee since i was in 6th grade and belonged to a pool with the mookerjees. i remember some of the other horrors of 6th grade– the sideways ponytail, the MC Hammer pants with gigantic pink flowers on them–but i can honestly say that i didn’t remember what it felt like to be stung by a bee. so i am no bitter towards all bees. and marble steps. and possibly heavy metal rockers.