I am klutzy. No, really. It’s simply miraculous, really, that I haven’t decapitated myself already. Or never broke a bone. It’s a running joke in our house, actually, that I am a constantly running Three Stooges reel – and you just never know when I’m going to pay off in a big, big way. Like falling down the stairs. Or opening a cabinet and having a hail of crap falling on my head. I totally can’t get through the day without injuring myself in some truly magnificent way. I probably run into 4 to 5 door frames per day. I stub my toes another 4-5 times a day. Bash my fingers, scrape the skin off my knuckles, sprain my ankle by WALKING. That kind of thing. I am a wondrous masterpiece of grace, balance and rhythm. All my bruises are testament to this fact.
The ironic part? I used to be a dancer. No, seriously. Not a ballet dancer or a professional dancer, but I did a lot of dancing in high school & college. I did a lot of musicals and rocked the dancing like a dancing thing. Took classes in college, learned oodles of choreography, even was a featured dancer in one or 2 productions. But I can’t walk to the mailbox without risking a serious ankle injury. Every time I go to the basement, I risk a new bruise.
Something else that permits me to put my big ‘ole face on The Fail Blog?Â I fail big time at sharing my food. I struggle with it all the time – especially because my husband loves to share food – and he always teases me that it’s such a struggle for me to share. Especially dessert. I’m not 100% sure where this comes from, though my mom says that we always were afraid that we wouldn’t get enough food growing up, so we were totally protective of our food so that we got our fair share. Not like we were starving or anything, but when something good came along, we hoarded it. Which makes me think about how I’m a total hoarder. When we go grocery shopping, I always want to buy at LEAST 2 of the things we use a lot. If I can, I buy lots more. Because I’m terrified of running out. Of graham cracker sticks or cheerios or bananas for Henry because he can’t understand, “We don’t have any more, Henry”. Of Diet Coke. Whenever I have the opportunity, I want to buy a boatload of things so I don’t have to worry so much about what we’re going to do when IT ALL RUNS OUT!!! Because goodness knows, I wouldn’t be able to buy more ever.
Anyway, I don’t share my food well. When Steve & I first were dating, he would ask to try my food and I would look at him like he’d asked to eat my head. My initial reaction? “Um….no. No, actually, you can’t.” I’ve become much better about it, but it still get annoyed when I have to share. Especially my dessert. Stop touching my food. I totally will stab you with my fork.Tweet