I am quite a sporty gentleman, a bit of a show-off and hate getting muddy without prior warning. These specific character traits are necessary exposition to explain how I ended up sitting by the side of a busy road, humiliated, immobilised and waiting to be rescued by my mother.
You see being sporty gave me the confidence to sprint across the busy road (that I was now sat beside) when an opening in traffic presented itself. Like lightening. Being a bit of a show-off meant that as the bus, that seemed further away on first glance, revved it’s engines and sped towards me, I pathetically attempted to appear casual and unnerved whilst at the same time quickening my gait in the least girlie way possible. I think I failed. I may have cantered like a horsey.
The final factor, my dislike of unannounced mud was my ultimate downfall, as I was confronted mid-dash by a unusually wide grassy verge on the other side. Never before have I seen such wideness. I was not expecting it. It threw me. It stood between me, death by No 35 and the safety of the pavement. Furthermore I could clearly tell that it was a mud bath. A monstrously wide mud bath. My shoes whilst old, were not appropriate footwear for getting muddy. And so the dye was cast….
As I was already moving at quite a pace I decided upon a hop skip and jump type of manoeuvre to cross the beast and limit the muddying. My logic being, the fewer footsteps I took in the mud, the less mud I would get on my shoes. Simples
To be honest, everything was happening so quickly that I wasn’t 100% sure exactly which track and field discipline I would ultimately opt for, I just knew that I was fit, cocky and needed to be airborne. And I needed to do it NOW!
The intention was sound. The take-off was text book. I pushed off with a strong foot, drove upwards using my arms to propel and direct myself forward and looked in the direction of travel. Perfect execution. I can only imagine how impressed all the people on the bus were as they witnessed me sail through the air like a seasoned acrobat.
I suspect however that they were less impressed by the sight of my leading foot landing on the wet grassy verge and giving way. I bet as my knee twisted resulting in me falling onto my side, muddying not only my shoes, but my trousers, favourite jacket, face, hands and hair, that they were the very opposite of impressed. I would not be surprised if they even shared a collective snigger at my expense. At the very least, the bus driver tooted his horn in such a way that I knew that he was trying to communicate….
‘You sir, are a massive ****’
I knew from the popping sound that my knee made that I was going no-where. So, after a few deep breaths to ensure that I didn’t pass out through pain (or cry) I shuffled on my bottom over to the pavement, pulled my mobile from my muddy pocket and called my wife.
But my plight did not end there.
My wife is one of those curious creatures that has a mobile phone that she never answers and often doesn’t even have it with her. If you too have a partner that has a similar fundamental misunderstanding of the purpose of a mobile phone i.e. to take it with you because IT IS A ***** MOBILE and ANSWER IT WHEN IT ****** RINGS, you will know my pain. You will also no doubt fully understand when I say that on hearing my wife’s voice-mail asking me to leave her a message for the eleventh time, I was filled with such fury that had I had divorce papers about my person, I would have signed them in muddy blood.
And there we have it. No matter how old you are and no matter how much you think you no longer do, everyone needs their mum. And so it was that I called my mummy (who was luckily staying with us) to inform her that her 39 year-old son was sitting by the side of the road, covered in mud and unable to stand, and could she please come and get me, because my wife does not care enough to even answer her phone. And she did. Thanks mum.
My wife did for a short while seem genuinely concerned that she’d missed my desperate calls for help, until later when I pointed out that if my mother had not been staying with us, I could well still have been sat by the side of the road. This seemed to touch a nerve for my darling wife, who covered her face with her hands. For a second I felt the love. I wanted to embrace her, until I realised she had covered he face to try and hide the fact that she was laughing. In the end she gave up the façade and just openly guffawed in my face, obviously finding the image of me sat in agony, in the dark, alone, defenceless and hungry, quite hilarious.
FYI, no matter how many times you say that something is not funny, if you are crying with laughter when you say it, chances are people won’t believe you.