Oops, I did it again....

I’m a klutz. I’ll be the first to admit it. I have bad luck with it comes into running into things, either way my car or myself. The bad thing is, in addition to this, I bruise easily. And badly. Every day, T will see a new bruise on me and go “what in the world did you do there?” Sometimes I can remember where I got it, but more times than not, I couldn’t tell you for the life of me where my latest mark came from. I don’t know if it’s because I’m moving around too fast and not paying attention to where I’m going or what. Either way, I know that I’m a klutz.

 

Take last weekend as an example. While T was outside working in the garage and on the yard, I was doing my usual A.D.D. style of cleaning. I had taken everything off of the bathroom counter, had started dusting the living room, and was making the bed all at the same time. Our bed is pretty large (it’s a Queen), and it’s got a headboard and foot board. I’m always always running into the foot board. I think it’s because I cut corners too closely or what. (I have the same problem with driving. I see a pattern here). So while I was trying to make the bed, I ran into the right corner of the foot board, causing sharp pain to my upper thigh. “Shit,” I thought, “that’s going to bruise. But I kept going, despite the pain, of course, and what do you know, I ran into the exact same spot within five minutes of the first injury. So now I had two rather large (and growing) welts on my leg. That last one hurt worse than the first one, but I kept going. However later, T notices them when we’re getting ready to leave the house, and he asks “what in the world did you do?” I told him how I ran into the bed twice, to which he replied “I keep telling you, you need to watch where you’re going!” I know, I know. I need to watch where I’m going. Whatever. Not like I’ll actually do it, but I just say “ok, honey,” and off we go.

The next day, the bruises actually hurt pretty badly and I couldn't sleep on my right side because they hurt so badly. And both bruises are about the size of golf balls, which is a really attractive look in shorts, let me tell you. So it’s Sunday, and we’re cooking dinner (correction: I’m cooking dinner and T’s on the computer…ha), and I’m on the phone with my mom telling her about my stupidity from the previous day. While I’m doing this and rushing around the kitchen, I slam my right arm into the back of T’s chair. Ouch! I actually say “ouch!” out loud and both T and my mother go “what did you do now?” Yeah, so I have another bruise on my right forearm. That’s pretty, too.

I think I should slow down or something because by the time this weekend gets here and I have to look all pretty and unblemished in my white dress, I’m going to look like I just played a game of tackle football. And people wonder why I don’t play contact sports…