Ring Ring Ring went the trolley

I've been in a bit of a funk lately, one of those "who am I, what am I doing with my life" existential crises. The appeal of getting one of these funks in the summer is knowing that you can stay in them as long as you want. It's entirely possible to sleep until noon, eat too much, and go out every night without guilt (and I have been doing all that pretty regularly). No one is going to tell you to snap out of it because you are seemingly still going to work when scheduled, and drinking as much coffee as ever.
My blah-se attitude came to a literal crashing halt this morning at work. While bringing out a few drinks to customers, I completely wiped out in the center of the restaurant. I am talking about an old school slipped-on-a-banana-peel-fall, the kind where everyone in view lets out a collective gasp followed by a sympathetic nod. As I lay in the pool of soda with my legs still in the air and a tray across my chest, I tried to think of the best possible way to remedy this situation. Crawling back into the kitchen was not an option, the sticky pool of Diet Coke was in the way. I stood up and gracefully accepted the two now-empty cups from a nine year old boy who had scampered up from his table to pick up everything I had dropped. Then I walked back into the kitchen, and started to laugh so hard I thought I actually might cry. It was amazingly cathartic.
Of course today was one of the three days in history I have hosted at Flat Top, so I had to sit and tell all of the sympathetic nodders to have a good day on their way out. Usually, this was followed with the mom touching my arm and whispering nods of encouragement. The helpful boy even smiled at me, and apologized for no apparent reason.
After riding home on the bus with my newly sugar-tastic ass attaching itself to the already disgusting seats, I took a nap and emerged refreshed. Joel and I had made plans to go on our first date in months (we left the kids at home with the nanny). We tried out this really sweet sushi restaurant right next to my work, then saw Sex and the City. On the cab home, we were the perfect couple, talking about what time we had to get up and how there was still time to read before bed. This has been the weirdest day ever- starting with me hosting for seven dollars an hour and royally embarrassing myself in front of a bevy of stir fry aficionados. Somehow, it ended with a quiet cab ride home with my (closeted gay) husband. No wonder I don't know who I am anymore. Life post-college, pre-job doesn't really allow for a lot of stability. Just a lot of time to think about who the hell you want to be, anyways...