I often joke – give me a flat surface devoid of even a spec of dust, and I will find something to trip over. Sadly, it’s not so much a joke as it is the truth. I’m the sort of klutz who catches her elbows on doorknobs and who discovers bruises of unknown origins just to repeat the action, cringe in pain, and go – Oh! That’s where that came from! I’ve burned myself on my rice cooker. I’ve fallen down my basement steps, from the very top step. I sliced open my thumb (and needed four stitches) on my first day working at a deli. I’ve pulled a full on Bambi on ice more times than I care to count.
I’m a special kind of klutz. But I’m also a really talented kind of klutz who somehow has never broken a bone – but does have a rather large collection of ace bandages and icy-hot patches of every imaginable shape and size.
I’m the kind of klutz that comes from a long line of klutzes, too. My own mother fell off a six inch step and managed to severely sprain one ankle (like, full-on-tore-ligaments severely sprained) and broke the other ankle. Off a six inch step. Six. The doctor gave her crutches, and we all thought he was joking. Don’t you need at least one good foot to use crutches?
Cut to me last Thursday. Perfectly smooth parking lot. Not a pothole in site. I found something to trip on. It was, unfortunately, rainy – and rain makes paint slick. So there I was, splayed in a crosswalk, stifling the string of curse words that were forming in my throat as the pain sunk into my right knee, which had slammed into the asphalt, and my left ankle, which had turned an unnatural angle. I managed to get to my feet, still holding the small bag of groceries I had just purchased, and limped the few feet out of the crosswalk – where I then had to take a moment and a few deep breaths. A very kind man getting out of his car offered to help me to mine, but I’m also the kind of klutz with too much pride. At home, I discovered my knee was bloody and already bruising, and my ankle looked like it had swallowed a baseball.
You know what’s fun? Stairs. When you don’t have one good leg to lean your weight on, stairs become really fun. But I’m also a stubborn klutz, and nothing was going to keep me from sleeping in my bed that night.
My sister came down for a visit on Saturday, bringing with her my two favorite tiny humans. Thankfully, she had a pair of crutches that she brought with her to help me get around while we ran errands, and I learned the answer to that question – you DO need at least one good leg for crutches to work. You’d think being the kind of klutz I am that I would be a pro at using these contraptions, but this was my first time. Turns out, I’m also the kind of klutz that is not very good on crutches. Nobody was surprised by this discovery.
I often joke that my kitty, Shevy, takes after me. Literally – she is me in cat form. Emotional. Wants to spend any rainy day curled up with a warm blanket. And the type of klutz who rolls over to show the belly…and rolls right off the bed. So this morning, when she was limping around the living room, I was fairly certain there was a really bland story for how she did it. But she’s not talkin’.