Prima ballerina was not to be my fate.
As my sister says “There’s a reason my mom didn’t name me Grace.” We come from an almost absurdly clumsy family.
That cranky physical therapist asked me, after testing my balance “Do you tend to fall over a lot?”
Yes. Yes, I do. Trip and tip and crash and fall. My glasses are often askew from where I bump my head into things.
To wit (all recent happenings):
While taking a shower, I bent over to put a bottle of shampoo on the shower floor. While bending, I experienced a sudden, violently strong sneeze, which came with such force that I lurched forward and slammed my head into the wall. This was on Sunday morning and made me say most unchurchlike things.
I put 1/2 cup of oats and 1/4 cup of wheat bran in a measuring cup and let it sit on the counter while the water heated for breakfast oatmeal. Then I knocked an oven mitt off of a shelf and onto the end of the handle of the measuring cup, turning it into an instant oat catapult. Oats and wheat bran EVERYWHERE. It was like oatfetti.
While bending forward to grab a bag out of my car, I simultaneously shut the door for no good reason. The sharp, pointy part of the door at the top corner met my cheek in such a fashion that I burst into tears for a brief, stormy moment.
I went to shut the sliding glass door at my mom’s house. I was being careful to lock it as soon as I shut it, so I was shutting with one hand and reaching for the lock with the other. Instead, my index finger slipped into the open space just as I slammed the heavy door. Purple finger! My nail is going to be all black. It’s a good thing I don’t use my right index finger for anything ever /sarcasm.
The last two incidents were on the same day, people. I am going to start wearing a helmet and a Michelin Man suit everywhere, just in case. I think it will be a good look on me.