It is a special kind of humiliation to fall down, or to walk into something. It has occured three times. In 1988, I started a new school, far from the suburb where I grew up. I met new arty friends and I was in heaven. During a vinter walk, I was telling some story and did not pay attention. I still remember the sound of my head hitting the lamp post. The humiliation. The humiliation.

Those arty friends did not last, I was way too dorky for them. But they got me hooked on art. 15 years later, I was late for an art opening at Konstfack. Again, I did not pay attention to the very closed glass doors in front of me. Bam. I was the talk of the opening. For all the wrong reasons. The humiliation. The humiliation.

In 2010, I found a new area in which I could humiliate myself. For a long time, I thought that the way to do that was to lift less weight then all the others. But no. The other day, I left the shower room with a small towel round my weist. As I passed one of the cutest guys at the gym, I sliped. I sliped bad. First up, up, nipples to the wind. Then down, hitting the tile floor hard. The towel opened and I found myself laying butt naked. The cute guy turned and asked if I was ok, I replyed that I was, you know, a little too fast. I walked off. The humiliation. The humiliation.

 

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