Superheroes need dance lessons

February 22, 2017


Here’s my column for this week. I hinted earlier at an incident where I almost wiped out in front of a crowd a few weeks ago, and here’s more on the topic. Perhaps you know someone who shares my affliction. Bless her heart. (And I can’t believe I didn’t remember to add this to the story . . . but I also fell down a short flight of stairs just after my wedding ceremony on the way to the reception!


My superhero power is the ability to appear graceful and elegant, while secretly being a total klutz. Sitting around a table or standing in line, you’d think I was the embodiment of Grace Kelly. But when I try to move from point A to point B, my true identity is revealed. Walking is my kryptonite.

Mama wanted to sign me up for dance lessons after I’d had four trips to the hospital for stitches before I was 6 years old. Once on my eyelid (fell against the coffee table), twice on my forehead (front porch . . . both times) and a nasty bicycle accident (didn’t need to use those fingers anyway).  “Dance is for sissies!” I told her. Looking back, I have no idea why I said that, because I was just about the biggest sissy around, and thought the tutus worn by the ballerinas on Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood were the prettiest things I’d ever seen.


As I grew older, lankier and received two concussions, one from smacking into the flagpole (looking at a boy) and the other from a metal box of feminine products in the locker room (when did they put that there?”), my parents panicked and signed me up for Mary Lou’s Models where I . . . click HERE to finish reading the story at and click “share” to send to your favorite accident-prone lady! (Misery loves company).



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