How I Hurt My Arm

So the other day I'm at the mall, which is no place for a strung-out pervert like myself. And circumstances place me on the world's slowest escalator, right behind a woman with a majestic arse. A nice twist of fate, to be certain, but here's the thing: The woman, knowing she has a majestic ass, and knowing that as the escalator ascends, said ass is going to be directly in my line of vision, very likely takes me for the sort of bastard who hangs around malls waiting for someone of her ilk to get on the escalator, then jumping on right after them to enjoy the show. Now, she's right, but I don't want her to know that. So I spend the entire escalation trying not to stare at her ass. Which means staring at the ceiling, the passersby below, my cell phone (actually, scratch that -- anything but the cell phone, as then she'd assume I was trying to snap a photo of her hindquarters), or behind me to assure her that, while I certainly appreciate the awesomeness of her ass, I'm not the kind of guy who makes a living out of following women up and down the escalator all day. At least not any more. Anyway, by craning my neck to look as far away from her ass as possible, I missed the top step and tripped into a display of silver plated trash receptacles, which hit the floor with a loud, almost comical crash. Luckily, my arm broke my fall. And I was able to walk away mostly unscathed. I checked my pride at the door, to be certain, but I really gave up on that a long time ago.

Now, honestly, ladies, when you get on an escalator, are you aware of who's getting on behind you?