Tights are not always sensible, and here's why.

If your mom's glass door shatters and you forget and fall backwards through the door frame while locking up, your left (unprotected-by-pants) thigh might scrape against a pointy shard resulting in a bloody gash. Pants, however, would not have prevented the deep violet, baseball-sized bruise from forming on the westernmost peak of your butt.

This tragic story happened to me just this Saturday. Here's a paintbrush reenactment:

Seriously, this is not your average black and blue. This shade of purple should only come in a paint can. Julia thinks it’s beautiful; Adam gave me a maternal, “you really hurt yourself!”; my mother refused to look.

While I was falling, I actually screamed. It wasn’t a high pitched shriek of fear. It was an alarmist, “I’m hurt; help me!” scream. Totally my survivor instincts kicking in. I give myself an A+ for natural selection abilities. My friends/family would zoom right over in the wild, and the butt-wounded Julie would NOT become prey.

Overall, I’m deriving more pleasure than pain from this injury. I totally blew it when I tried to tell the story at work though. Too much mental rehearsal. No laughter. Planning will always getcha. Maybe I’m even blowing it now. Was the paintbrush reenactment too much?

In other weekend news, Adam Neal made a stunning Edward, the pampered, girlyman half of the brotherhood in the Suffern Playhouse's production of Blood Brothers. To see a video of him rehearsing (British accent and all), please consult this. Don't mind his lack of eye contact with the camera. (Isn't he cute?)

I need to nurse my bottom (aka: lay on the couch and watch The Hills). The one-time-only Broadway Dance Work Out is this Wednesday at the gym, and I can NOT miss it.