Pulling a Rhonda

This post is dedicated to the Rhondas I know who tend to be as clumsy and accident prone as I can be (which is where the phrase "pulling a Rhonda" originates).

Sunday, at the end of a lovely camping weekend, on the way home from camping in the mountains, my husband stopped to fish in a creek.  I'm used to this.  I usually bring a book to read and my phone to take pictures if we've stopped in an especially lovely spot.  I was wearing my flip flops since it was hot, not exactly the best gear for trekking through the woods and down hills to the creek; but I've done it before, so no big deal, right?  

Usually, I find myself a prime spot of real estate (a rock big enough to be a semi-comfy seat right by the water so I can put my feet in while I read) and enjoy the peace of the moment while my husband fishes.  This creek was a bit different in that the banks were a bit overgrown and my husband wanted me to come downstream with him, which involved crossing the creek.  

He, being the incredibly athletic man that he is, leaped between two rocks four feet apart and made it easily across the creek.  He was in flip flops, too.  I told him he was crazy if he thought that I could actually make that same leap in flip flops.  So I proceeded to find a more ideal place to cross the creek.  I found one I thought would work and started to make my way across.  

The third rock in turned out to be more slippery than I thought...and the creek turned out to be deeper than I thought.  Down I went.  Backwards.  Scrabbling to try to catch the rock so I wouldn't end up the way I ended up.  

I managed to keep my head out of water.  

But my phone and the book in my back pocket got soaked.

My legs and arms got bruised and scratched up.

My hubby fished for a little while longer while I mentally recovered from my spill and watched my phone die.  He picked a spot to trek through the woods to get back to the truck, instead of going back across the creek.  However, there was a lot of undergrowth.  And not just happy little harmless plants.  There were wild blackberries and wild roses.  Which have thorns.  Plus, there were branches to step over.  

So I stepped over the ones I could.  I stepped up onto branches and down the other side if they were high enough.  One of the ones I stepped up onto broke and fell to the ground.  So I fell, too.  Sideways, this time.  

The strap on the side of my flip flop broke and I twisted my ankle.  

So I had to trudge through the remainder of the woods with a busted flip flop.  Not easy.  Takes some skill, which I had obviously used up at some point during the weekend.  

That was the end of my mishaps in the woods...but not the end of my mishaps.  

It was a two hour drive home.  

When we got home, I decided as a last ditch effort to save my phone to put it in a bag of rice.  That's supposed to work, right?  

I spilled rice all over the kitchen floor.

My phone never recovered and I'm discovering how little insurance can cover for a replacement phone and how much a "service fee" can be.  

I've applied some super glue to my flip flop in the hopes of repair it.  It's still drying, so we'll see.

But, hopefully, I've gotten the clumsiness out of my system for maybe another week or two.

Maybe the next time it won't be so expensive.