If there were an Olympic event for being accident prone I swear I’d win a gold medal. Maybe take all three. Don’t believe me? Keep reading.
For some people, an accident is just that: an accident. It’s not an everyday occurrence. Everyone muddles through their bad days, moving on after the appropriate ‘mourning’ session has transpired. Maybe you reach for a soothing glass of wine, maybe you meet up with a friend or a significant other, maybe read a book or watch a movie and enjoy someone else’s misery for a short while.
And that’s the end of it.
I prefer chocolate, myself, but the pounds roll in and they bring their friends’ cellulite and double chin.
Every day is an adventure; never knowing whether I will get a black eye, slice my toe open, slam my hand in the door, or drop something on my foot. If I had a nickel for each event, I would be able to feed an entire small country.
Still don’t believe me?
I feel that I must open this blog with one of the worst things I have ever done to myself. This happened a quarter of a century ago and it is still fresh in my mind. In fact, a lot of family members still puzzle over the event.
Kids will play the most foolish games and turn them into grand adventures.
I was that kid. At the tender age of six, I was enjoying a game of bouncing from furniture to furniture (not unlike jumping on the bed) with my cousin and little brother. If I recall correctly, there was a big couch and two recliners. Sounds safe enough to a fearless child with no foresight into the dangers of stupidity.
–I’m about to get an early lesson.
It’s now my turn and I’m on one of the recliners. The couch is the closest, so I make my move. And I hear the chair skid across the floor.
Not much. But just enough.
Just enough to have me, not only miss the couch but land on top of a milk crate that someone pointlessly left sitting there.
Here’s the best part, (guys, you might wish to skip ahead!) I was mid-jump when gravity pulled me down, legs spread-eagled. As you can imagine, I screamed bloody murder. My entire family, who just happened to be there, came running downstairs. Awkward!
My mother examined the damage I’d done. This is no lie, I had a bruise for nearly the rest of the year! It took months before the blackish purple even began to fade.
Note to self: don’t do dumb s**t!
A Clumsy Writer