I don’t know what my fucking problem, but I’ve been the biggest klutz ever this week. I feel like a pre-pubescent boy who’s growing into his body too quickly.
Ok, granted, I’ve never been the most graceful individual. This summer’s stripper stage injury can attest to that (long story, don’t ask). But I’d like to think that since I’ve been living in this body for 27 years, I would finally have some fine motor skills…or at least the ability to walk in heels without biting it.
My cat Buddy has been doing this new thing where he jumps on your shoulder in order to get a ride into the next room (he’s also been licking cement, but that’s a story for another day). He literally hates when his paws make contact with the floor, and will now meow incessantly at you until you give him a lift. I’m convinced he’s playing that kid’s game “Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back.” (Top prize: year’s supply of catnip!) Liam and I can’t figure out if he’s being OCD, or just plain lazy. Either way, he spends most of his time on our shoulders.
I should point out that sometimes Buddy jumps without warning. I’ll be at the counter chopping an onion, and BAM! Out of nowhere he’s lunging towards me. He still has his claws so it really hurts when you don’t have proper notice. Guys, I’m not joking.
On Monday night he jumped without warning. I was walking by the closet and saw him out of the corner of my eye getting ready to pounce (cue the butt shake). Like a lion stalking his prey, he was crouched and his eyes were wide. “Buddy! Noooooo!” I yelled, fumbling backwards to avoid his razor sharp claws. The good news is he didn’t jump. The bad news is I rolled my ankle and fell directly into a door handle. Got a sweet bruise to prove it.
The accidents continued last night when my size 10 shoes knocked over the cat’s food and water dish. I spent 15 minutes cleaning up soggy “crunchies.” “Did you just not see the dish?” Liam asked, trying to understand how someone runs into a giant blue bowl of water in the corner of the room. “No, I saw it,” I said without explanation.
I think my favorite story though is from today. Yep, it’s a real gem. I’m standing in my coworkers’ cube, thanking her for the fresh mint she’s brought in for me, when she points to my skirt. “You’ve got a little something there. Um…Er….Not sure what it is…”
I look down. “Oh that?” THAT would be a large chunk of the cinnamon oatmeal I had for breakfast. Really?! Is this really what I’ve been reduced to? I don’t know if I’m more embarrassed by the fact that I missed my mouth when feeding myself, or the fact that I didn’t even NOTICE. Maybe I should rename this blog “Guacamole In My Hairbrush … and Quaker Oatmeal on my Skirt.”
For your listening enjoyment and to wrap this biatch up: an oldie, but a goodie—Our Lady Peace: Clumsy.