Today I fell all the way down the stairs at the entrance to the train by my house. It's okay - nobody saw me fall, but they did see me taking off my coat to wipe off the various stages of frozen water and sand meant to keep people like me from falling on my butt. Oh, my poor new jeans. I was going to try really hard to keep them fairly pristine; and away from the jaws of the European washer and dryer that apparently boil your clothes and then blast them dry with temperatures from the Arabian desserts in July or something. [Enough hyperbole?]
I skinned up my ankle, have a bruise on my calf and my pride, and had to worry about my wet pants not only drying, but also not turning into a popsicle as I continued my venture to hit the sales in Paris. Yuck.
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