Kismet is feeling a lot better, as evinced by the fact he woke me up twice last night sniffing around looking for a rawhide he had buried and exhumed about a month ago from under my bed.
I, on the other hand, am a bit sore. Evening programs have picked up again (which is part of the reason I have been so lax writing NickiLovesDrama Platinum) and I worked tonight. I tell a ghost story that is set in the Randolph House, possibly the creepiest house in the entire Colonial Williamsburg historical area. Picture a beautiful colonial house, perfectly symmetrical, with a lovely detached kitchen and laundry connected by a passageway. Now picture the entire thing covered in dried blood-red paint. Yeah. It's creepy. Anyway, this is where I work.
The shoes I wear are uncomfortable, not because they're heels (an inch counts!) but because they have no padding in the ball of my foot. I fixed that by inserting insoles, but they made me feel so good that I went swinging down the street at a positively blinding pace, blithely swinging my basket, marveling how two little pieces of plastic can make me feet feel so good when--WHANG, my heel came down on a pebble, my ankle twisted, I landed on my knee and then on my a$$, basket flying, concerned William and Mary runner jogging up to ask if I was okay. Sure. Just embarrassed.
CW protocol insists that security be called for all accidents, so a call was duly made. A few minutes later my supervisor came huffing up "--I've called Kara, she's getting into costume!--" only to be reassured that I was fine, just really embarrassed to be sitting in the middle of Dog Street. The security guard administered an icepack and a large band-aid to my left knee where I skinned it, and I stood up shakily. Sore, achy (I must have pulled on my knee and hip too) but the show must go on. And it did. I had to fill out paperwork for my accident: just in case I should ever sue the Foundation, they can prove that it was totally my fault for not paying attention when I was walking around in daylight on a level, paved street.
But we got through it. And by the end of the night, my insoles had worked their way around to sit on the top of my foot, causing me to rethink this whole thing all together. Maybe tomorrow night I'll just wear my flat militia shoes...I'm sure no one would notice.