And I'm Supposed to be an Adult...

Do you want to hear a story about a really, really stupid thing I did over the weekend?

Sure you do.

Friday night Penn and I went out with some friends who live in the city. It was a fun evening, full of entertaining conversation and dinner at a "gastropub" (which apparently just means "English pub that chooses to serve teeny tiny plates of food for way too much money"--seriously, the food is really good but the plates are tiny and I don't think the term "gastropub" should excuse that kind of behavior) and then a couple more drinks at a dive bar. We headed home around 11. Our walk home from the subway station is downhill past a grocery store, and on Friday night there happened to be a Harris Teeter shopping cart perched conveniently at the top of the big hill. So Penn grabbed the cart and said, "Do you want to ride in a shopping cart?!" For whatever reason, this seemed like a brilliant idea, and I said "Yes!" and hopped in. I attribute at least a little of my decision-making to the fact that I'd had a few Strongbows, but, truth be told, I have let Penn push me in a grocery cart before stone cold sober (not that pushing each other around in shopping carts is, like, a regular pastime of ours, it's just that it had happened once...maybe twice...before).
So, anyway, I hopped into the grocery cart, which was one of those tall, skinny two-level ones. I threw my bag into the bottom of the cart and Penn started pushing me downhill. And of course you have already guessed exactly where this is going. Penn was pushing me, I was shrieking, but I wasn't actually scared because he seemed to have the whole thing well under control. But then we got to the bottom of the hill and we were beginning to come to a stop when suddenly I thought to myself "Whoa, looking up at the sky!...Still looking up at the sky!!!...Oh, and we're on the ground." I actually said that last part, the "We're on the ground" part out loud in surprise. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, so I sort of couldn't believe it had happened at all. One minute I was rolling down the hill, the next minute I was flat on my back with my head craned backwards to see Penn, who was lying on the floor behind me. The post-accident adrenaline kicked in and I jumped to my feet immediately, as did Penn. I said, "I'm okay, I'm okay!" to Penn and two old ladies who were staring aghast from the Harris Teeter parking lot. But then I immediately burst into (quiet) tears so, no, not entirely okay. [Incidentally, isn't that weird how adrenaline works? Every time I've ever been in an accident I've always gotten up and walked away saying, "It's okay, it's okay," even when it's instantly clear that, no, it's not okay. I've leaped up and walked away from sprained ankles and a knocked out tooth and near-concussions and having the wind knocked out of me. How bad does an injury has to be before it's impossible to actually hop back up? I sort of feel like my leg could be ripped off from the hip and before my mind completely registered what had happened I'd still be attempting to stand up and announce "I'm okay!"]
Anyway, apparently what happened was that Penn tried to slow down the shopping cart but in doing so he leaned his body weight on it too much and the whole thing tipped over backwards. I felt bad for him because he clearly felt terrible for accidentally tipping me over. As I pointed out to him, though, he didn't force me to ride in the grocery cart. He didn't even have to talk me into it, he just suggested it and I said "Sure!" So it's definitely my own damn fault for being such an idiot. So now I have a big bruise on the back of my knee from where it was resting over the side of the cart, an inexplicable bruise on my left hip (I have no idea how it happened, but it definitely came from the fall), and a scrape on my left elbow. The worst is my back, though. I have a fist-sized scrape on my shoulder blade from where my skin scraped along the asphalt, and my lower back has long purple bruise from one side to the other that is the exact length and width of the shopping cart handle, which I fell on directly. I'm trying not to be a baby about it, but I'm pretty achy. Penn is taking good care of me, though, since his only injury is a (deep) scrape on his thumb from where the cart fell on it as he tried to catch it.
We definitely got a good laugh out of the situation, though. And I'm sure the old ladies who were at Harris Teeter in the middle of the night have enjoyed telling the story all weekend, too. It's definitely one of those life moments when you look back and say to each other, "Why on earth did we even for an instant think that was going to be a good idea?"
I definitely don't feel like a mature, reasonable adult right now. Then again, Penn argues that it's a good thing that we're still in touch with our inner stupid teenagers, and maybe he's right! Still, I think I'll just walk home from the subway from now on. No more shopping cart rides for me.
Also, where do you think this goes on the hierarchy of Stupid Ways in Which I Have Injured Myself? I think it goes above "Whacking Myself in the Face With a Raquetball Racket While Fooling Around Instead of Actually Playing Racketball" but I'm not sure if it beats "Dangling Off a Balcony in a Parking Garage in an Attempt to Land on a Flight of Stairs One Floor Below but Landing Wrong in my Heels and Tumbling Down Half a Flight of Stairs."