I’m incredibly clumsy. It’s quite remarkable really. The other day as I headed to lunch with a few associates I literally walked into an office wall, for no reason other than I failed to notice a large taupe-colored barricade blocking my path until the actual point of impact. Any onlooking coworkers just shook their heads – they’re used to me by now. Half the time I’m amazed to survive the morning commute without ending up losing a limb on the tracks and causing some horrific rush hour train delay where angry suits pace the subways slapping their folded Wall Street Journals and grumbling, “Why couldn’t the dumb chick just maim herself on the 6 train instead.” Wearing heels is a joke, onlookers always crack up watching me attempt to navigate the labyrinth of ankle-snapping grates located smack in the middle of every New York sidewalk .

I also manage to routinely clobber myself on revolving doors, parking meters, turnstiles – just sitting in my office provides an obstacle course of large inanimate objects such as bookshelves and cabinets with which to inflict needless injury. Even Cat started tumbling off couches and tripping over mouse toys after a few months of living with me. Boyfriend says my so-called “lack of self-preservation” is endearing, but I can tell he gets a little nervous when the temperature rises and I walk around displaying arms and legs peppered with bruises. Last summer, after I nearly broke my nose when I reached for a gallon of detergent on a high shelf only to have it plummet directly into my face, a woman stopped me on the street, staring at my black eye and gashed forehead, to ask me if things were alright at home. Oh absolutely, though it appears I need to make sure every item in my apartment is swathed in bubble wrap to decrease its impact on my head.

I toss out the occasional attempt at an excuse like “My feet are disproportionately small for my height” or “These damn Aerosole flats are impossible to walk in.” But the truth is that I typically wander through the day with a total lack of awareness of my immediate surroundings. On the street I’m a hopeless voyeur, gazing up into any unshielded window to make out the layout of the apartment and examine its residents, speculating about their daily lives (and, more acutely, their current rent). At work I lose all sense of spacial relations after sitting confined to an office all day, especially when I’m trying not to laugh – so much in law is undeniably funny, but, as previously discussed, one must not give the impression of taking it unseriously. I’ve definitely taken some fantastic dives in front of this or that partner’s door, usually I recover quickly enough to run before anyone notices.

But yesterday morning I had my first serious near miss with what could have been an actual fatality. I was crossing an avenue in the middle of a construction area, so the pavement was covered with uneven wooden planks. In the middle of the street, my foot slides between two of the boards as I’m staring into the abyss and paying no attention to the surrounding hazardous conditions. I start tugging at my foot and look up to realize that a cement truck is headed directly towards me with no apparent intention of stopping. In a flash of coherence I envision the pain of impact, wonder which hospital is closest, and picture tomorrow’s competing Post and Daily News front pages, each screaming some tasteless headline like “YOUNG LAWYER FAILS TO WIN ARGUMENT WITH ONCOMING TRUCK,” and displaying an awful headshot photoshopped from some college or law school graduation picture.

Suddenly I’m being lifted out of the tangled street mess and pulled back to the sidewalk. I turn around to behold my savior – he’s about nine feet tall, wearing a wife beater and a black leather bracelet covered with metal spikes, with armfuls of tatoos depicting women in various states of undress. I started to thank him profusely, but he grunted that I should be more careful and then lumbered away as the light turned green. I have no idea if he reads blogs, but I figured just in case, I’d send out a big Thanks to him for not letting me get splattered across the ashpalt, especially not in Midtown.