The Humiliation Chronicles: Why I don't do nice things

So a couple in our ward that we are friends with recently had a baby.

We decided to take them dinner one night.

We decided to take them dinner one freezy, rainy, icy night.

So I whipped up a little sumin-sumin and we got ready to head across the sidewalk to their apartment.

As we were walking out the door, Kolton was given the two plates of food and I decided real quick to stick some brownies on another plate.

After a period of indecision, I decided to put the brownies on a not-so-nice plate just in case.

(Can you see where this is going?)

So we head out the door, down the stairs, and we are halfway across the sidewalk when Kolton says,

"Hey, be careful, it's pretty sli-"

but it was too late.

His sentence was punctuated by the sound of me crashing/landing on the sidewalk  ice rink.

I didn't even have time to react, I just smacked that layer of ice like my life depended on it.

The plate broke.

And not just a-few-chunks broke,

The completely-shattered-miniscule-pieces-of-glass kind of broke.

I would know.

I picked some of those miniscule pieces of glass out of my hand after the shock wore off.

The brownies-my favorite kind of brownies-were now sitting in that pile of glass

So I'm just chillin there on the sidewalk on my hands and knees seconds after the smack and the shatter, Trying to catch my breath with Kolton trying to attend to me when the friends pull into our complex (the wife had gone to pick up the husband from work)

So I slowly get up, mumble a breathless "I'm okay" to Kolton and walk towards our friends who are just getting out of the car. The husband asks me if I'm alright and Kolton explains what happened (I'm still trying to catch my breath. but mostly trying not to cry) and about how the brownies are now just chillin on the sidewalk, plateless.

The guy says, "Oh that's okay, it's just ice!" runs over to the brownies and take a big bite out of one. (This would have cracked me up if I hadn't been focusing so hard on trying not to lose it right there on their doorstep).

Just to defend myself here, I'm not really one to cry at an injury (knock on wood) but it was the someone-just-smacked-you-straight-on-the-nose-and-your-eyes-are-watering-and-you-can't-do-anything-about-it kind of cry.

So we chatted for a second on the doorstep, but all I really wanted to do was go home, inspect my throbbing knee, release a few of those tears, and restore some of my pride that had shattered along with the plate.

Sweet Kolton cleaned up the glass/brownie mess while I  did the afore-mentioned things. My knee had already started to swell and was forming into a dark bruised lump.

The next day I went to kneel next to a second grader's desk and let out an audible gasp when I knelt on the wrong knee. Ouch!

Honestly, this incident happened about three weeks ago and if I happen to put too much weight on my knee it's still a little tender.

And that is why I don't do nice things.