Terms of Endearment

 

One of the great things about living in this town, is there's no shortage of gorgeous places to go for a run. Plus you can't beat the weather (it's actually raining as I write this - but that's the exception that proves the rule).

One of my favourite runs takes in the ocean, a bird reserve, a zoo, a world famous hotel and many multi-million dollar properties. You also run past a graveyard on a hill, which is excellent motivation if you're feeling a little winded.

There I was the other Saturday, shuffling along at my half marathon pace, enjoying the March flowers, the pelicans flying directly overhead, the high tide splashing surf on to the pavement when suddenly my foot catches on some uneven brickwork and I go flying. Right in front of the swankiest hotel in town. Now, I don't reckon I was moving that fast - I'd already run 4.5 miles so I can't have been booking it, but even so, I do recollect thinking 'oh shit' as I travelled horizontally along the pavement for a good 10 metres. Fortunately I broke the fall with my knees, shoulder and chin.

It being 10am on a particularly gorgeous Saturday there were no shortage of LA types going for a pre-breakfast beach stroll. I was immediately surrounded by cheerful helpers. A very swanky bottle of Four Seasons spa water was proffered, as were multiple bandages, and antiseptic wipes. My breathing had gone all shallow and swoonish, so I sat on the deathtrap ornamental brickwork and dabbed at the blood pouring from my knees. 

One of the older ladies clucking attentively round me asked if I wanted to go into the lobby and sit. When I raised my face to say, no, that I thought I was more or less fine, she said "oh honey, your face".

Apparently I'd broken the fall with my face, and I had blood pouring from my nose and chin. 

Realizing what a tremendous faux pas it was to look dishevelled in this part of Montecito I  shuffled off in horror and dashed off a quick text to LK.

"Just tripped and went flying in front of the Four Seasons. Bruised, bloodied and shaken, face a wreck, but OK. Think I can make it home"

I got a reply moments later:

"I think you look pretty"

WTF? Apparently it was up to me to drag my carcass back to the car.

When I finally hobbled up to the house half an hour later LK greeted me at the door. Took one look at me and went "Jesus, what the hell happened to you?"

Anna had been playing with his iphone and Anna had sent me the text.

I should have known my husband of 15 years would never text "I think you look pretty".