what to do when someone else falls down

I took a header on the sidewalk this morning. It wasn't really a face plant, because I sprawled onto my knees, but it was a doozie. I wasn't texting (thankfully), but I was moving along at a brisk clip and I just missed the hiccup in the sidewalk and down I went. Horrifyingly, mortifyingly, quickly.

And then there was this young woman beside me. "I was just admiring your bum before you fell."

I mean, really. Everyone who comes upon you after you fall should tell you that, even if it isn't true. In a British accent. It makes everything better. It is a humiliation eraser. I'm telling you, this woman did everything right. She didn't touch me. People who saw me fall — and I fell with a glorious bag-busting dramatic phone-case-popping pavement-shaking clatter — gathered with all kinds of American earnestness to reach toward me and ask if I needed to call anyone or if I needed a hand. My knees trickled blood like a three year old who'd fallen from her trike. Dirt smeared my arms. Involuntary tears started from my eyes. This woman imperiously waved away the concerned faces. "She just needs a moment to collect herself," she said commandingly, "Move on." British imperialism still works. They moved.

"Nothing broken?" She inquired cheerily, "just a bit of an ego bashing, it looks like, and aren't those the worst? Just sit here for a moment and wallow. But look here, you're going to have some lovely cool shreds in your jeans and a quite nice story to tell, now aren't you? And you still have that great bum of yours."

And you know what? When she walked off, I was smiling. I picked up my own stuff and heaved myself to my feet and walked home. I was a bit trembly, but I was no longer the least bit embarrassed about having fallen down. I went home and cleaned up my bloody knees. And I mean bloody in both the American and the British sense of the word.  See? She did put me in a good mood.

Plus, she was right. I do have some pretty cool shreds in my jeans now.