i am a klutz. a terrible, spectacular klutz.
when i went to australia with my husband's friend peter (ha! i love saying that because it sounds like something from desperate houswives, which, although i have never ever seen an actual episode, i think i get the gist of) my husband told me to be careful. now, given that of the 10 most dangerous snakes in the world, 8 are australian and there are many other scary things that can kill you in that odd australian upside down fashion, you'd think that was what my beloved was referring to. nah. he asked me to be careful when i was cutting things. snort! who does he think i am? cut myself! right! well...right. i did cut myself.
and nothing bit me.
though we did have a little episode when peter's brother, who hates bugs waaaay more than i do (and that's saying something) started screaming that he saw a spider in a shirt on the floor. so, acting all "let me handle this, little lady" swaggery and all, i came up, picked up the shirt nonchalantly, shook it out (while peter's brother cowered in the corner - men!) and finding no spider in it, tossed it at the guy. tee hee - this is funny now...hell, it was funny then! as the shirt flew through the air, a spider did indeed fall out of it and soon our combined high-pitched screams brought our host over. he was all business - came up, squished the offending arthropod, looked at it and spake thus "it's nothing to worry about, it's only a whiteback." so we were all like, "whew! a whiteback! thank GOD! uumm...what is a whiteback?" at which point we found out that its bite makes your flesh rot. but only, you know, in the general bite area. you're not, like, going to lose an arm or a leg, or anything. ahem. in australia, that's a NON dangerous animal.
so that's that. but, as per usual, i digress. back to my klutziness.
so this one time, i was having a fight with my then boyfriend. as is usual for fights in which i am involved, there was a lot of screaming, gnashing of teeth, rending of clothes and general gestures of the melodramatic kind. having made my point (and, boy, can i make my point, as my long suffering spouse will attest), i turned around to make a grand exit. i had had my say. i had spoken. i was through. through with you, baby! i was outta there!
as i turned, i tripped on the telephone wire and, i swear on a deity of your choice that this is true, i went airborne. this was no mean trip, this was flight. all my limbs actually left the earth and i really vividly remember having time to think that this was not doing my side of the argument any good at all, and that my grand exit wasn't all i had hoped it would be. i came down in the vicinity of the door, at least a couple of metres from where i started.
and this is one for the "couldn't do it if you tried" books. i was locking my car, and as usual had my hands full of purses, sunglasses, lipglosses, books and god knows what else i always need on my person at all time, and as i turned around to slam the door, my keys flew off my hand and into the car. it was a slow motion scream as i realised what was going to happen - the keys landed neatly on the driver's seat just as the door clicked shut. the ama man thought it was pretty damn funny. yeah. ha. ha.
so what i fear is that i will die in a freakishly odd and yet completely preventable way. i am a posterchild for the "most accidents happen in the home" campaign. i now make a point of being really careful, which works well enough when i am sober. unfortunately there are frequent times when i am not.
saturday night at a st. jean baptiste party i had had a couple of glasses of wine and was feeling gooood. i walked into the kitchen and saw a woman who had just spilled red wine on her shorts. now i am not smug when i see another mortal suffering the fate usually reserved for me (i will NEVER wear a white shirt to a party. ever. ) having lately discovered the miraculous powers of tide to go i immediately rushed to her side and, in my charmingly imperfect french (ha!) told her to wait for me. i ran upstairs, dug in my purse, produced the pen and started to gallop down. unfortunately i slipped and fell down the last several steps, nearly dislocating my shoulder out of its shouldery socket (yeah, i know it has a name, but screw you if you think i'm going to go searching for it now, disrupting my narrative flow...aaaah, where was i?) and nearly knocking over what was quite probably an heirloom antique. but, hey, the wine stain came OUT! you go, tide to go, you GO!
and so if you hear that i electrocuted myself by dropping my hairdryer into a bathtub, or fell down a manhole, you can rest assured - i had it coming. it was always going to be that kind of end.
editorial comment: as i got ready to cut a watermelon with our needlessly gigantic henckel knife i realised that what you might or might not know about me is that i am a dental hygienist by trade. so, you know, i poke sharp little instruments into people's mouths. ha!