When I was in high school, when the ex and I had just started dating, I went looking through his backpack. Not for anything in particular, but just because I'm nosy like that. Besides, he was sitting right there, so I don't count that as snooping. As I flipped through the loose sheets of papers in his English folder, I glanced my name. I pulled the paper out and realized it was an essay (read: three four sentence paragraphs) written about yours truly.
I read through it against the ex's wishes and thought it was the sweetest thing anyone has ever written and/or said about me. Although one thing that caught my eye which I knew to be false was his analogy of me and the gracefulness of a cat. I laughed so hard when I read it and asked between fits of giggles if he even knew me at all. When asked to explain my utter lack of appreciativeness, I explained that I, in fact, was not as graceful as a cat. In all actuality I have the gracefulness of a bull in a china shop, so to speak. Maybe even worse, because while a bull in china shop merely breaks and ruins everything in its wake with clumsiness, I tend to hurt myself, usually pretty bad.
Severely sprained ankle. Sprained wrist and thumb. Busted knee. Torn meniscus. You would think all these injuries occured while doing roller derby. Or maybe some other sport. Well, you would be wrong. With the exception of the wrist. Everything else, in addition to an endless list of other such disablement, was the cause of me simply being alive. Sometimes, and I'm not even making this up, I fall over from just a standing position.
With all that said, here's a gander at my day. Upon waking, I got up to pee. I ran into the wall. That doesn't sound so bad since I had just woken up. As I was peeing I reached for the toilet paper...and hit my hand on the counter. Hit at just the right angle, it can bring tears to your eyes. Fast forward to my afternoon theory class...the aestetician doing a demonstration on facials wheeled her chair over my big toe...twice. Now there you would think that wasn't my clumsiness but her mistake. I assure you this would only have happened to me. This evening as I was walking out the front door in my platform flip flops, I stepped on and fell over three pairs of shoes...I ate shit. Now I sit here with a throbbing big toe, two scraped knees, a cut on my elbow and foot rubbed wrong by the canvas material on my flip flops. That's gonna leave a mark
Cumbersome is as cumbersome does, some might say. And by some, I mean me. Futile isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind.
Sidenote: The genius has, in fact, inherited my gracefulness, or lack there of. Gawd help him.
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