Tabla's main dining room is situated at the top of a lovely wooden staircase. After two courses of a grand three course meal with Atlanta friend Barbara and her brother and sister-in-law, I excused myself to go to the ladies' room before dessert was to be served.
In my defense, I did not approach the staircase lightly. I was watching my step and holding on to the rail. God forbid I should fall! Also, I was not drunk; I'd had the equivalent of one glass of very good wine, but I was totally sober. And I was wearing low-heeled shoes, so I can't blame what happened on the shoes. Well, I made it down the first section of stairs to the first landing and headed down to the reception/bar/restroom area, still holding the railing. After a few steps my shoe must've slipped or I misjudged a step, because the misstep pulled me away from the handrail and I started to tumble.
And I mean tumble. Base over apex. Head over heels. Ass over tits. Tumble. I realized right away that there was no way to save myself or break my fall, so I just gave in to it. Good old ice skating training kicked in, I suppose. The tumble itself was interesting. I was totally aware of what was going on, and my eyes were wide open. I didn't scream or yell out. Just rolled with it. My one thought, besides "Well, aren't these wooden steps hard?", was "Kate will kill me if I break something a month before her wedding!" Once I landed, after 6 or 7 steps, another thought crossed my mind. "Boy, I'm glad I'm wearing underwear!"
The good news is that even though the wooden steps were hard (especially those pesky edges), I did not break anything. Or need stitches. Or damage this gorgeous face. :-) I have three good sized knots on my head - one on the very top, which should tell you the trajectory of my tumble - and bruising across my back, shoulders, and hips.
The staff at Tabla was very solicitous, especially the manager. Yeah, I know he was just trying to avoid a law suit, but he was helpful. One of the waiters was an EMT, so he check me out for broken bones and applied ice to the goose-eggs on my head. I let them fuss over me for a few minutes and then I really needed to get back to the business at hand, which was to go to the bathroom - accident or no accident. And I didn't want another accident, if you know what I mean.
In the meantime, the staff had alerted my friends about my fall and they came down to check on me. Whoever broke the news must have said it in a panic, because I think Barbara was more shaken up than I was. (I'm fine, Barbara.) For the rest of the evening I was treated like a dotty fragile old dear - I mean, who knew when I'd take another spill?
But tumbling down a flight of very hard wooden steps did not keep me from my dessert course, a wonderful chocolatey thingy. I think the chocolate did as much good as the ice on the head. I was able to walk down the staircase unassisted (though I'm sure everyone was nervous) and out the door on my own steam.
Tabla took my name, address, and phone number, and did indeed call me yesterday to find out how I was feeling. I figure the restaurant is keeping my name on file, in case I ever try for reservations. I'm sure my name is starred as a "faller." Well, at least I had one good meal there, eh?
So, channeling The King, my theme song this week: I. can't. help. falling . . .