(no fiddling was actually involved)

(No fiddling was involved.)

I’ll confess I am a bit of a romantic. …Of the delusional type. Certain ideas come to me under the rose-tinted guise of romanticism only later upon execution to be starkly revealed as pure insanity. Usually with some sort of physically painful/highly embarrassing retribution involved. This was such a case.

I liked a boy, and had obviously had some success in beguiling him with my various charms as he was coming that night to visit me. Yet for some reason, residing in my house to wait for him like one of the normal human species seemed inadequate. I had the idea that I would seem so unusual and exciting if I waited for him on the roof as if I’d been stargazing. How suburbanly-pastoral of me, yes?

So I climbed up onto my roof and set up, perched to await him. Eventually he came walking along (he lived near enough), and texted that he’d arrived. Of course I already knew this, as I had not at all creepily observed his approach from my vantage point.

“Look up,” I responded.

His gaze lifted to observe my placement atop the roof. An image in which I can only imagine I at best appeared roosted as some sort of absurd big bird, but more likely worse- a looming insane real-life gargoyle. However, at the time I thought it to come off with a sort of quirky charm. I couldn’t comprehend how he could be so obtuse as to not want to join me up there. (Current reflection has provided a few valid possibilities.)

Anyhow, as he had refused my invitation, I began descent to his plebeian level. A descent that in my mind would display my cat-like agility and grace. Alas, although I am a dancer, normal-world coordination has never been my strong point. But I must admit, in this case a lack of common sense may (definitely) have been the greater culprit.

My path up had involved climbing a tree and walking along the tops of fences. One of the fences bordered our recycling and garbage bins. The fence was sturdy, if narrow, but in deciding my path down, it occurred to me that I could take a short cut between the two fence edges by simply walking straight across the tops of the recycling and garbage. I, however, did not factor into the equation that A) the bins were made out of malleable plastic, and B) THAT THEY WERE ON WHEELS.

With thoughtless aplomb I lowered my weight onto the recycling bin, making it about a step and a half onto the garbage before the lids inverted and my ingenious short-cut rolled out from under me. The bins flipped, and I found myself hanging off my roof’s gutter by one hand.  Amidst the cacophony of cans, glass, and trash capsizing, my grasp slipped and I clattered to the ground with the rest of it.

The only thing cat-like about my descent was that I fell off the roof and lived to tell the tale. Really I was much more raccoon as I emerged from the (thankfully?) concealing darkness of that side path, slinking culpably away from my crime scene where I had thoroughly, and noisily, wreaked havoc upon our garbage.

“Uh are you all right?”

I pulled myself together, and put on the airs of someone who, if not having fully intended to do that, at the very least had not deviated too far from her original game-plan. Laughing breezily, I combed my fingers through my mussed hair.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine- just slipped. Sounded worse than it actually was.”

And with that I ushered him inside.

Trying to remember back, what happened afterwards was mostly eclipsed by that spectacular greeting. But I’m pretty sure that night we ended up making out in my bed. So my advice is this: even if you start the night as a disastrously clumsy gargoyle, never say die. Some boys might be into that.

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