The Palazzo Pant Incident
It's 2:49 am, and restless legs involuntarily twitching away have woken me up again. I'm wide awake, so it seems as good a time as any to finally write down the series of events that got me here in the first place. I haven't been able to put my finger on what's causing this new-for-me phenomenon to occur. Still, I'm suspicious it could be related to the cervical spine stenosis I've been recently diagnosed with.
It was 7am on a Saturday morning 11 weeks ago. 11 weeks. 11 fucking weeks. Excited to visit my daughter and her kids, I packed up my car to make the hour and a half trip north and needed to leave early to make my grandson's swim meet on time. My 34-year marriage had abruptly ended with our separation just 3 weeks prior. I was living on my own with the family dog, a 15-year-old border collie I was nervously taking care of and being hyper-vigilant about. A medium-sized, 15-year-old dog in dog years is 93, so I was treating Missy like the special senior citizen she is and was very sensitive to her fragility.
I had her in the car parked down the street from my rented granny flat and was about to go when I realized I had forgotten the all-important beach chair. I didn't want to have to unload the dog I had just lifted into the back seat, so I decided at that moment that I needed to run back to the house to retrieve the chair. I needed to run so the dog wouldn't be alone long in the car. I turned to run. Running. In flip flops. In palazzo pants. You know palazzo pants, right? They're Yoga pants taken to the next level: light, comfy, flowy, wide-legged, long, beachy, and just what granny needs for a comfortable car ride.
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