Watching Where You're Stepping - #5333
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
When my wife and I stuck our head out the door of our motel room one morning, we were greeted by a torrential rainstorm. Because we were driving a larger-than-usual vehicle, we had to park a distance from our room the night before, which meant we were in for a wet run to our vehicle. I was collecting our overnight bag, so my wife was the one who struck out into the monsoon first. For the most part, she was able to run under the cover of a motel overhang. So I took off, sprinting along the route that she had just taken. What I missed was her yelling "No!" to me as I approached a place to cross the parking lot. I missed her warning and promptly ran full speed into a huge puddle that had accumulated at the edge of the sidewalk: soaked socks, soaked shoes, squishing for the rest of the day. Oh, and my wife's feet? They were dry. Mine were soaked. The difference? She looked ahead to see where she was stepping. I didn't.