The Normal Day of a Natural Klutz

[desert ashes]

The Normal Day of a Natural Klutz

Just around 4:45 PM Friday night I decided to call it quits for the day.  This was the precise moment after I had managed to accidentally bump into the large display of glow in the dark pens featuring alien bobble heads stacked upon a display of small-sparkly-made-in-china-by-a-sweatshop coin purses.  (The setting is none other than a family dollar.) This moment occurred just after I had tripped over the small step coming back inside after finally finding my debit card on the ground next to my friend's car after a frantic purse and pocket search near the register. 

Of course, this was merely the tip of the ice berg.  No, not an ice berg.  Ice bergs are unexpected -- take Titanic for example.  No one saw that hulking mass of death and despair until it was too late.  Rose Dawson wasn't crying out for her love not because the ship had ample time to take effective evasive action.  No, my klutziness is not an ice berg springing surprisingly at the world.  Unfortunately I've been klutzy for as far as I can remember.  Even as a young girl taking ballet lessons or parading before a panel of judges as a young beauty pageant girl (oiy), if I was meant to go right, I'd eventually end up going left.  My most brilliant moment came during the rehearsal of my high school's Cinderella production.  I, in all my Fairy Godmother glory, twirled my way off the stage and into the orchestra pit.  (My shoulder still aches every time I think of that.)

To say the least, at 4:45 PM Friday night, I knew I was done for.  Prior to my stunning display, I'd already locked myself out of my house.  Twice.  Thankfully this is not the first time I've locked myself out (I'm at a record of thirty-five times since moving into the new house in June) and have since kept my back, back door unlocked.  Unfortunately the back, back door is tucked behind a good foot of shrubbery and tree branches -- all of which were either heavily covered in snow or partially frozen together.  The first time I locked myself out was, well, predictable.  I went dashing off with dog, purse, and morning caffeine in hand... and no keys.  The fact hit me just as I closed the locked door behind me, of course. 

The second time was a little more inexcusable, yet not entirely out of my natural scope.  The keys hadn't been locked inside the house.  Not inside the car.  Not in any of my pockets or the depths of my shoulder bag.  The keys were found an hour later in the snow.  (How they got there exactly is still a mystery.)  My dog is the one, sadly, who deserves credit for even finding them, being oddly and easily distracted by shiny things.  (Or tennis balls.  Or golf balls.  It's interesting trying to practice putting and chipping and having the dogs or cats chasing after the balls.)

Throughout the day (or any given day, really) I managed to knock into at least three objects, usually stationary ones, and managed quite unsuccessfully to attempt at balancing a couple of plates, bowls and coffee mugs.  Thankfully only one coffee mug met its bitter end, and it wasn't one I really liked anyway, so it can't be considered a substantial loss.  (However, when I realize I buy at least a new mug a month, it does put it into a bit of a bitter perspective.)

Suffice to say, when my friend rejoined me outside in his car and took one look of me, with my face buried (Did I mention I blush every single time I manage to have a public klutz moment?  I'm starting to think it's a curse.) and trying not to laugh at myself too hard, he didn't need to ask being the recipient of some of my most outstanding klutz moments.  So, can one really be blamed for throwing their hands up before happy hour even began? 

Happy to say the weekend was far less tragic than it started.  I'm only nursing one overly stubbed toe this Monday!