There are some people who can’t be still.  The Movers.  They are sometimes spotted because they bounce a leg, or shuffle their feet.  Then there are more extreme cases where they can’t sit for more than a few minutes, or they need to do cartwheels or yoga poses in the line at the grocery store. 

On Monday while sitting at Backspace with Sky, I watched two guys come in and order drinks.  It became quickly apparent why one man ordered coffee and the other didn’t.  They guy who ordered an Americano needed something to help him keep up with his friend who decided that since Backspace has a fairly open floor plan he’d do a handstand, then a cartwheel then tried a round-off which landed him squarely on his ass on the pavement… but that didn’t stop him from climbing on the railing at the entrance and smacking his noodle on the advertisement board.  Dude #2 finally got his drink and with an audible sigh followed his Mover-friend (who is vigorously rubbing his head) outside.

When I’m in a Mover’s space I have to fight the urge to try to keep their speed.  I’m not built like that.  I’m okay to just sit – chill – take it in.

Last night at Poi, I was in the park and this guy named Fidgety (he’s a cutie) comes and sits next to me on the grass where I’m reclining.  I loved watching the poi spinners and the staff twirlers and feeling the grass under my feet where I laid on my back propped up by my elbows.  I wasn’t watching Fidgety to my right as we talked and there was a lull in the conversation as I was particularly amazed by someone doing a corkscrew trick with the poi – when suddenly – two legs and 140lbs of man lands on my left boob.

“Ah! Right in the knockers!” I wheezed and rolled over on my side to shield my breasts and clutch them going, “OHMYGODITHINKYOUBROKEMYTITTY!”

Fidgety scrambled in embarrassment and fell over himself trying to explain he was trying to go from a sitting position to a backward handstand while we were talking, and he fell over – on my girls.

Of course if I wasn’t so engrossed in the poi and dancers I would have seen the fidget signs beginning and I’d have made my tactful retreat out of the reach of a Mover. 

I did a quick check and my left breast was fine, nipple and piercing intact  - aside from the ache of a good kick in the chest, everything seemed to be okay.  Well, except for Fidgety whose face was aflame and he couldn’t stop babbling so I interrupted…

“Honey, I don’t mind if you want to hit on me, okay? But please stop kicking me in my boobs.”

The whole rest of the night he hung out on the other side of the group.  As we were leaving I fought back the urge to say, “See you next Tuesday! Maybe you can get my right side and even things out.” (her name is Betty)

I guess I’ll never be able to relate to the Movers.  Constantly in motion.  But I will at least try to stay out of their way, because I’ve never met a Mover who hasn’t regularly staggered, stumbled, tripped, knocked over, landed on, broken, skinned, banged or bruised themselves or the person unfortunate enough to be sitting nearby.

I’m happy to report that Betty and Boop are doing just fine, Jeffy – aside from a little swelling….