I am a geek. And a klutz. I'm the woman strutting along in high heels, looking and feeling pretty good, who will then trip and end up flat on her face. Or catch the bottom hem of a long skirt on a heel and rip a hole in it. I'll be happily driving along in my car, park and open the door only to find the belt of the coat I'm wearing has been dragging along the road for the last 15 miles. I will laugh and flirt with a cute young guy, only to discover later that all along I had something green and gross in my front teeth. I have found myself rocking out to the Partridge Family on my ipod and discovered that I've been singing the words out loud in my gym, and everyone nearby is looking at me pityingly.
I'm trying to become less of a danger to myself, but unfortunately it hasn't happened yet.
What saves me is my pathetically oblivious attitude, which I prefer to think of as grace.
My daughter comes by her grace naturally; she inherited it from me.
She was home from college for a visit. I walked in to find the whole house reeking of burned bread. She had attempted to defrost a bagel in the microwave, and it caught on fire, because unfortunately she was deep into some reality television. Fortunately, the house was spared, even though I think the interior of the microwave will be forever charred. And the whole place still smells faintly of burned bagel. Especially when I use the microwave. At least when I miss her, I can just go into the kitchen and breathe deeply.
I have scars on my knees, because when I was little, I had permanent scabs from falling down on the blacktop pretty much every day; kickball is a well-known dangerous sport. Later, as I became a runner, I wiped out badly at least a couple of times a year. And one memorable 4th of July, I was walking down my steep driveway with a huge salad to take to the neighborhood block party, when I tripped at the bottom and spilled everything, as well as made a bloody mess out of my poor knees. The neighbors got Otter Pops that year, it was all I had at the last minute. At least the kids liked them.
I recently got a cordless mouse, and in spite of the fact that I put the battery in right and set it up correctly, I couldn't get the darn thing to work properly. Imagine my surprise when I discovered- I was trying to operate it upside down. Who knew those damn things had a right and a wrong way?
I have no sense of direction. I get lost with my Garmin, which just pisses her off to no end. Have you ever noticed how she gets more irritated, the more you veer off course from her precise, prissy instructions? She really sounds like she's going to have a stroke.
The best klutz event happened at the bridal shower of a good friend of mine. Her sister, the-maid-of-honor, is a good friend of mine as well, and asked if I'd come over early and help her set up. I was really helpful until I went to move the enormous container of ice tea from the kitchen to the back deck. I grabbed the large container from the bottom, not realizing that the bottom wasn't attached- and when I moved it the whole vat of iced tea spilled all over the clean kitchen floor. Worse, it was actually a vat of Arnold Palmer, and the lemonade made it really sticky. Mortification. The sister was so sweet and understanding; as she threw a pile of old towels into the sea of sticky brown on the floor, she commented that I justified her family hoarding all the old towels, all these years. She also said that it was good that the floor was sticky, because now the older guests didn't have to worry about slipping on the previously spotless floor. She also said it was just as well, because the second batch- which I did successfully transfer from the kitchen to the back deck- was much better than the first one.
I have to say, anyone who can make a klutz feel better immediately is the epitome of grace.
That is another quality I'm striving for... along with not tripping when I walk.
I'm trying to become less of a danger to myself, but unfortunately it hasn't happened yet.
What saves me is my pathetically oblivious attitude, which I prefer to think of as grace.
My daughter comes by her grace naturally; she inherited it from me.
She was home from college for a visit. I walked in to find the whole house reeking of burned bread. She had attempted to defrost a bagel in the microwave, and it caught on fire, because unfortunately she was deep into some reality television. Fortunately, the house was spared, even though I think the interior of the microwave will be forever charred. And the whole place still smells faintly of burned bagel. Especially when I use the microwave. At least when I miss her, I can just go into the kitchen and breathe deeply.
I have scars on my knees, because when I was little, I had permanent scabs from falling down on the blacktop pretty much every day; kickball is a well-known dangerous sport. Later, as I became a runner, I wiped out badly at least a couple of times a year. And one memorable 4th of July, I was walking down my steep driveway with a huge salad to take to the neighborhood block party, when I tripped at the bottom and spilled everything, as well as made a bloody mess out of my poor knees. The neighbors got Otter Pops that year, it was all I had at the last minute. At least the kids liked them.
I recently got a cordless mouse, and in spite of the fact that I put the battery in right and set it up correctly, I couldn't get the darn thing to work properly. Imagine my surprise when I discovered- I was trying to operate it upside down. Who knew those damn things had a right and a wrong way?
I have no sense of direction. I get lost with my Garmin, which just pisses her off to no end. Have you ever noticed how she gets more irritated, the more you veer off course from her precise, prissy instructions? She really sounds like she's going to have a stroke.
The best klutz event happened at the bridal shower of a good friend of mine. Her sister, the-maid-of-honor, is a good friend of mine as well, and asked if I'd come over early and help her set up. I was really helpful until I went to move the enormous container of ice tea from the kitchen to the back deck. I grabbed the large container from the bottom, not realizing that the bottom wasn't attached- and when I moved it the whole vat of iced tea spilled all over the clean kitchen floor. Worse, it was actually a vat of Arnold Palmer, and the lemonade made it really sticky. Mortification. The sister was so sweet and understanding; as she threw a pile of old towels into the sea of sticky brown on the floor, she commented that I justified her family hoarding all the old towels, all these years. She also said that it was good that the floor was sticky, because now the older guests didn't have to worry about slipping on the previously spotless floor. She also said it was just as well, because the second batch- which I did successfully transfer from the kitchen to the back deck- was much better than the first one.
I have to say, anyone who can make a klutz feel better immediately is the epitome of grace.
That is another quality I'm striving for... along with not tripping when I walk.
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