Not a thanksgiving post

For this week's writer's workshop at Mama Kat's, I chose prompt #5 ('That time you fell down') because I'm French and we don't do Thanksgiving. But we do Beaujolais Nouveau. It's a national celebration that takes place every third Thursday in November every year and it's all about drinking wine that's not even good and way too expensive for what it is, but there you go, we're French.

So I have to tell about a time I fell down. Choosing one is pretty hard, because I fall constantly. I also hit myself all the time, but that's another story. I think there are two times I fell down that I'll remember forever. Here's the one I picked.

When I was in "Collège" (your Middle School), my mom was an English teacher there. I know. Not easy. I think nothing even remotely embarrassing should happen to you as a teenager. I mean, you're already ugly, either too fat or to skinny, with parts of your body that grew before others - and it's usually not the ones you want to see growing faster, so I think that's enough to deal with.

Of course we all were teenagers, excepts for perfect people who were always good looking. Well, as gorgeous as I am now (I AM almost dating Alexander Skaarsgard, I can call myself gorgeous) I was horrendous. My hair was permed and made me look like a sick poodle, I had no pimples, thank God, but I did have 20 extra pounds and that doesn't make your life easy. I kept a few ones, you know, just to remember those days. Right. Anyway. I was madly in love with a guy named Jeremy who did have pimples, so many that his blue eyes was all I could see (there wasn't any space for anything else, you see, because of the red marks. Am still wondering why I ever liked him).

When the bell rang in the morning, we all had to stand in line, outside, grouped in classes. I was late that day during my second year, because I had spent too much time trying to make my hair look better in the bathroom. I was fully aware it was a disaster, you see. Just a tad of good taste remaining, although certainly not something you could see in my choice of clothes.

So I was late, everyone was already in line, two by two, and he was there and OMG (to be read with a very high pitched voice) he looked at me. Of course he did. I was the only one there, walking, but at the time I just couldn't wait to write this in my diary.

So I walked, eerily, floating a little, trying to look cool, trying to pretend I didn't see him, trying to hide my hair. Now that's lot of things to think about when you walk. So I fell. As in, stumbled and collapsed on the ground, in front of the whole school. I tried to get up as fast as I could but my knee was apparently dead, so I just lay there on the ground.

Humiliated is not a strong enough word. Of course it makes me laugh now, but that day, I was mortified. Strangely enough, nobody laughed. They just stared and finally, someone came and helped me stand up. It wasn't Jeremy. He made fun of me for ages after that. He knew I liked him - I wasn't very subtle, you see, drooling whenever I saw him.

Of course Jeremy never dated me. But I did see him a few years later, perm and extra pounds free and told him he wasn't cute enough for me. Boy, that felt good. If only he could see me with Alexander now... I know. I know. We're not really together. But we could be. Definitely.

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