What is it about our brains that makes one person graceful enough to perform ballet or walk a tightrope while others, like me, can’t go a half hour without some kind of blunder? I have been a clod for as long as I can remember. As a kid I always walked into poles and my knees were always scabby from falling down. My mother would always pack an extra outfit for the one I’d destroy by spilling Zarex all over it or sitting on wet paint.
It turns out it isn’t something I outgrew. I either bang my head, trip over my two left feet, spill something that will permanently stain my clothing, walk into a wall or door or pop a button or zipper almost daily. My husband is so used to my clumsiness that he’s taken to calling me Claudine. If I’m falling down a flight of stairs spilling hot coffee all over a brand new outfit and breaking every nail and perhaps a shoe in the process he’ll just say “Wait a minute, Claudine is having a moment.” It would actually be pretty funny if I wasn’t the type who bruised so easily.
The strange thing about it is that when I see someone else hit the floor like a bag of hammers, or almost knock themselves unconscious by banging their head, I just abut die laughing. Maybe it’s from watching the 3 Stooges repeatedly at a young age but to this day when someone stubs their toe or lands on their fanny I laugh like a hyena.
About a year ago my sister fell down two flights of stairs on her way to the train. She said on the way down all she could think about was telling me about it. And she did. As soon as she landed and realized nothing was broken she called me and I laughed hysterically.