That Time I was Smote by God

A big thank you to Rhea Footwear for providing shoes that help me avoid future smitings! As always, all opinions are our own.   

On a blustery New York City pre-Christmas morning, I executed my first face plant.

That time Veronica was smote by God. The GypsyNesters
I landed right on my nose.
(This is the cleaned up, in-the-doctor's-office version.
I wouldn't subject anyone to the gory pics!)

Decibel and I had just finished up shopping for The Piglet's engagement party, arms laden with huge, but light shopping bags full of bulky supplies.

Champagne flutes, serving trays, three-tiered food displays, and assorted cutlery (all fashioned in the finest high-end plastic of course, we were planning a soiree, not a chintzy affair!) rattled around us like huge bouquets of balloons.

The sun had just peeked out after a torrential rain and began to form those bands of brilliant, glorious Jesus Rays streaming through the clouds.

Though we had a few more blocks to trek than what was comfortable, we felt our mole-people skins needed a dose of vitamin D therapy and decided to forgo a cab.

A quick jaunt to a doctor's appointment and then a fun day of mommy/daughter time stretched out before us.

Walking past the main Salvation Army, I was surprised to see the organization had a theater. A marquee featured a movie-type poster with a bell-ringer's bell loving laid upon a bed of holly.

My pun-lovin' brain went into overdrive as I turned to point out the sign to Decibel, but before I could get out the words, "I bet it's about a jolly ol' elf with a heart of gold," the ground met my face.

FACE PLANT. I’d been smote for making fun of the Salvation Army, maybe not aloud, but definitely in my heart. I was struck down lest I commit a greater sin.

There I lay, prostrated before the church in that special kind of pain that only landing square on one's schnozz can bring, surrounded by scattered partyware glistening in the sun like a golden calf.

I sat up, chin down, hair hanging over my face; fully chastised. Reaching to the point of my great suffering (my nose), I realized I had been blinded. My hand came away covered in blood and, alas, my glasses were gooey with the stuff.

Decibel had knelt before me, her tongue only able to utter, "MOM!"

Unable to lift my face toward the heavens, I handed my glasses to Decibel. The blindness lifted from mine eyes and I saw that a crowd had assembled—as only a crowded holiday NYC street can produce—when I peered through my hair at legions of unwashed, puddle-splattered boots.

“Make them leave,” I beseeched of Decibel.

We don’t call her Decibel for nothing—verily, the girl’s voice carries for furlongs, “She’s okay, but she needs some space. Please go away,” she told the crowd firmly. Then to me, “Mom, let me see.”

I lifted my face. There was an audible gasp from the disobedient masses.

GO THE EFF AWAY!” Except she didn’t say “eff.”  Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the masses dispersed.  Just one of the multitudes of reasons I cherish my New Yorker daughter.

A Good Samaritan from the crowd remained behind; she had been gathering tissues rather than rubbernecking. As she bequeathed them unto Decibel, she suggested that I sue the Salvation Army for sidewalk negligence—um, no thanks.

I’d been smote enough for one day, thank you very much.

Using our glorious party napkins for an unexpected task, we smeared the blood around enough to find that the bridge of my nose was the source of the gushing—and it was bad.

Luckily, the aforementioned doctor's appointment was my Botox doctor (don’t judge me until you read this) who is, thankfully, also a plastic surgeon. He sweetly cleaned me up and gave me some of those newfangled “glue stitches.”

I will never mock the Salvation Army again. Truly, I say unto you, God means business.

This entire episode got me to thinking about how klutzy I’d become lately, and I began looking for solutions. And lo—and behold—Rhea Footware contacted us about their shoes with Never Slip Technology.

Great, I thought, the time has come for clunky old lady shoes.

I took a deep breath and clicked on their website and found their shoes to be neither clunky nor old lady. I decided to give them a go on our latest adventures.


Wearing my Rhea Footware in the fjords of Norway!

I never fell on my face while cruising the fjords of Norway...

Wearing my Rhea Footware in the canals of St. Petersburg

... or while playing footsie in the canals of St. Petersburg, Russia (David loves his too!).

Wearing my Rhea Footware in Denali National Park!

David even did some hiking in his across mushy tundra at Denali National Park in Alaska and never once ended up on his posterior (I just slipped put mine on to enjoy the views!). He proclaimed the boots perfectly comfortable even though they were brand new.

No need for an extended breaking-in period, in fact he even wore them on the long flights to both Alaska and Europe

As a matter of fact, we love our Rheas so much we asked the company if they'd like to offer a 20% discount to our peeps so they may try them out too!

Use our exclusive Rhea Footwear discount coupon code by clicking here, and using GYPSYNESTER at check out.


A big thank you to Rhea Footwear for providing shoes that help me avoid future smiting! As always, all opinions are our own. 

YOUR TURN: Did I deserve my smiting? Have YOU ever taken an epic fall? Tell us YOUR story!

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