I am clumsy.
No, that is a gross understatement. What I am is way more than clumsy. I have minimal fine motor skills and almost no hand-eye, its kinda pathetic and also to blame for why I gave up on both piano and sports as a child (although lack of patience may have also had something to do with the former). I tend to be a bit of a walking disaster.
The other day, walking down my front steps, I got my heel caught in the leg of my pants and took what probably looked like a flying leap onto the gravel driveway.
Let it also be known that this is not the first time I have gone careening headfirst down a flight of stairs. In high school, while taking my laundry down to the washer, I missed a step and with many a thump and bump introduced my skull to the cement block wall at the bottom of our basement stairs. Oh were there sailor words on that one.
This past Saturday has not one but two shining examples of my stellar clumsality (Word? Not word. Oh well.) While attempting to give The Gentleman a hug (which is apparently a rather dangerous activity) I managed to direct my forehead into his cigarette and burn a nice round red mark on my eyebrow (and also freak the fuck out cause, hello, almost burned my eye!).
If any of you are thinking that that is more his fault than mine (and trust me, you may not be totally alone on that one) don’t worry, I accidentally kneed him in the head getting up to go to the bathroom a few hours later. Kneed in the head…that shit takes a special kind of clumsy.
All of this becomes remarkably funny to me every year around this time. You see, I come from a skiing family. Daddy and Dahling met in a ski club that traveled all around the US, Canada and Europe. My cousin, who learned to ski when she was stationed in Germany, went to Utah last fall to try her hand out on their mountains and Dahling’s brother’s entire family takes a yearly ski trip. This year they are planning on teaching the 3 year old.
Every year, as winter rolls over us and drops snow on mountains, I am asked the same question…
Are you going skiing this year?
If I can not master stairs by the age of 24 I have no right strapping 2x4s to my feet and throwing my body down a mountain. I can injure myself well enough without adding skiing to the mix, thank you very much.
…y’all go ski, I’ll sit here and drink this hot cocoa. No, you don’t smell peppermint schnapps, now get outta here.