Pratfalls or Pitfalls — You Decide

Where to start on pitfalls and pratfalls? With my list of titles for unwritten pieces that will have no home, except now they will here at “Pitfall,” if I ever write them? Sure, let’s start there.

“When Life Gives You Extra Weight, Throw it Around”

“You’re a King, Act Like One”

“I Want to Visit 

Philip Ogley

’s and 

Andrew Gaertner

’s Farms — Here’s my Go Fund Me”

“My Client Left Me For a Life Coach”

“I’m Falling for You. What Do I Do Now?”

Enough of that. Let’s segue to pratfalls.

There’s the one two years ago that left me with two broken ankles. I milked a lot of content out of the experience, though, so there’s that. Painkillers might have played a role. That plus my generally sunny attitude that finds silver linings around nearly every cloud. Yes, I’m annoying.

Or the one where I threw on a dress with no panties underneath to walk my crazy miniature Schnauzer. We made it down the stairs with no mishap, which hasn’t always been the case. When there were two, and it was night, and the breezeway lights were out, they dragged me down the last three steps, where I missed the last two, fell and cracked my head on the metal handrail. That was fun.

The apartments did pay me a $1,000 not to sue them, so it wasn’t a total loss. I bought leashes and collars that light up.

But I digress. Bonnie — or the Bonster as I called her— and I made it all the way to the hiking trail next to my neighbor’s apartment. It’s lined with medium-sized rocks of various shapes. She yanked me over them. I tripped on one and went ass over teakettle. The dress flew up and landed around my neck. I wasn’t wearing a bra either. If my neighbor saw, he never said anything. Maybe he’s hoping it will happen again. Sorry neighbor, one naked pratfall is all you get.

My Pitfalls? They were all romantic ones. Talk about falling in love. Unless you count the house I bought and raised my son in. That was a money pit and a pitfall.

I suppose the romantic ones shouldn’t have been “a hidden or unsuspected danger or difficulty,” as the word pitfall is defined by Oxford Dictionary. The red flags were hidden but not completely unsuspected. I probably shouldn’t have blithely brushed those red flags away after they slapped me in the face.

The only excuse I have for the first one is that I was very young. When we’re young, we fall into unexpected and hidden dangers and difficulties all the time. This one was eight years of my life. Another was just four years, and the last only ten months. Progress? You decide. Maybe I just have less tolerance for being slapped in the face by red flags. Let’s hope.

Meanwhile, I amuse myself — and I hope you — by writing. I’ve made some pratfalls there, mostly on purpose.

And surely there are no pitfalls in writing. Are there?

Want more pratfalls to laugh at? Read the one below, or click below that for even more pits to fall into with me. Or both.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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