A strange thing happened Tuesday night, and I still have no idea why. I met Dave after work for drinks, eventually joined by Nate and Dan, and then we moved on from the bar to a newish Thai restaurant a couple blocks south on Amsterdam Avenue. Dinner was delicious, the company even better. Afterward we walked back up 109th to meet Shanna, where we stood chatting on the corner for a little while before heading off in our various directions. Suddenly I started feeling dizzy and turned to Nate, told him I felt kind of funny. He went off to buy me a bottle of water and the next thing I knew I was sprawled on the sidewalk, confused and looking up at four concerned faces hovering in the air above me, wondering where the hell my glasses had gone. We sat on the ground for a bit longer, and a nice man walking by handed Nate a band aid to put on my bleeding eyebrow. I broke my glasses (not a good idea on the eve of a national holiday, as it turns out), scraped up my right hand and shoulder pretty good, and am still feeling stiff and sore even two days later. But eventually my head cleared, and Dan helped me to my feet, and Nate and Shanna took me home with them, washed all my cuts and scrapes clean, put me to bed on their couch. The glasses got fixed, eventually, at Macy's yesterday afternoon, and then we went to a fun little barbecue in a back yard in Brooklyn. In the end, I think my ego is more bruised than anything else; the twinge of fear has long receded and the wave of embarrassment, too, is beginning to fade. But if you're going to pull the whole swooning female Victorian thing, it's best to do it surrounded by good friends.