Klutz

I really don’t know how I’ve managed to make it 28 years without really hurting myself. For those of you who have been privileged enough to miss out on this revelation, I…D Marie….am incredibly klutzy. Not in a “never-been-kissed” sort of way (thank GOD) but more so in a there’s a 1-in-3 chance that what is on my fork will never hit my mouth, plate or the table….but will instead end up on the floor, in the bed, in my bra or in my purse…sort of way.

Yesterday, I managed to turn my coke bottle into a weapon and sprayed coke all over my body and cubicle. Last week, I stepped off the curb and almost wiped out. So much so that a perfect stranger stopped, took her headphones out of her ears, eyeballed the hospital doors that were 10 feet away and asked me if I needed help getting there. She was serious.

LC and I picked out a dining table over the weekend for his place and I am infinitely glad to have the backing of a table and chairs to slow down the Dani-sheets-melee (so far? I’ve spilled red wine, oj, champagne, coke, and a bit of every meal that we’ve ever consumed in the last three months.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me….I have a dwindling amount of balance, coordination, and focus that I wrap up in a pretty box and decorate with neatly coordinated bow. I’ve got to figure out how to do better. Post Haste!