My Favorite Mistake

A recently released novel by Susan Andersen contains the greatest typo of all time. Here is the author’s public statement regarding the snafu. "I apologize to anyone who bought my on-sale ebook of Baby, I'm Yours and read on pg 293: 'He stiffened for a moment but then she felt his muscles loosen as he shitted on the ground'. Shifted - he SHIFTED!” Let’s pause for a moment and thank the gods for mistakes like this.

You done?

OK, moving on. We’ve all made mistakes. Some of us have made errors in judgment while others are serving three to five for their blunders. Mistakes are one of the greatest things about life. What better way to learn a lesson than through mandatory community service or public humiliation. You won’t be making that mistake again, will you? Sadly, for me, no. If life were elementary school, I would have been forced to retake kindergarten fifteen times.

My favorite mistake is inappropriate footwear. I’m a girl. I love me some shoes. And apparently, I have no idea what is appropriate and what isn’t. I live in Las Vegas. I wear flip flops all the time. It rarely rains in the desert, but every time it does you will see me, falling on my butt because I make bad podiatric decisions . Last Christmas we had a few downpour days. I ventured out into the storm two days before Christmas to grab a few last minute items. One of those last minutes was a pair of sensible tennis shoes for me. I walk into the store, in my flip flops, purchase the shoes, and leave. On my way to the car I slip on the wet pavement and come crashing down on all fours. I don’t get embarrassed, so I started laughing. No doubt everyone who witnessed my downfall thought I’d gone mad. That’s fine. I like to straddle the sanity line. 

Did I learn from my spill in front of the Nike store? No, no I did not. Last week we had two straight days of flash flood warning rain. Like a good Mom, I walk my little girl into her class, kiss her on the cheek, and return to my car. I walk out of the school doors into the monsoon. I get about six feet from the door and without warning, my knees are kissing the concrete. I assure all the witnesses that I’m fine and that I didn’t actually fall. I was testing gravity, it still works. Yes, I was wearing the exact same pair of flip flops I was wearing when I ate it ten months earlier in front of the Nike store. The following morning I go to slip my flip flops on again. My sweet daughter hands me the tennis shoes I bought for rainy mornings and said, “Mom, will you please put these on. I don’t want people I know to see you fall again.” My six year old is smarter than I am. Strangely, I’m OK with that.