Klutz-R-Us

I have said it before - there are some people who glide elegantly through life, perfectly groomed, poised and graceful at all times. They are the type that will emerge from a train wreck with nary a scratch and not a hair out of place. Perhaps some designer smudge to mark the ordeal.

And then there's me.

If there is a stone on the path, a pole on the pavement or a hole in the road I will inevitably trip over it, smack into it or fall down it. This is the evidence of my latest foray into the Land of Klutz:


This is the result of a small altercation with my bedroom door in the wee small hours of Friday morning. I had been out for a delightful but somewhat emotional evening with the recently acquired Love Interest (more of him later, I hope!), had thrown off the clothes (note not folded and hung up - perhaps there is a clue here?) and dived into bed as usual. Sometime later, when nature called, I prepared to make a quick dash to the loo - only to trip of the shoes I'd carelessly left just by the bed and smash head first into the side of the door.

The cut, fortunately, did not need stitches. The delightful people at the RAH simply whacked a bit of glue on it the next morning (I kid you not!). The black eye, which currently is an almost attractive shade of pink, is destined to turn a darker hue sometime before fading to that lovely mottled green/yellow colour - one you may recognise from the picture of my left buttock after it was bitten by a large dog last year.

You see what I mean ...

Just a few highlights of my career as a klutzorama:

Dad teaching me how to ride a horse. Horse startled by traffic. Threw me. Broke wrist.

Riding with Hired Hand on the ranch. He decided to do trick manouvre involving me withouth mentioning it to me first. Fell off horse into patch of star thistle. Tweezers for days.

Was persuaded to participate in a 'friendly' 10 minute soccer match against the Med School girls in my final year at Law School. Fell over, broke (same) wrist.

Having a delightful time at a dinner party at the DIVA's house. Located previously unidentified hole in their back yard. Fell in it. Broke ankle.

Went on holidays to Mykonos with Twinks and Trev. First night slipped on cobblestones. Fell over. Sprained wrist. Had to ask the very nice Canadian couple in the next room to tie shoe laces (him) and do up bra (her).

Arizaphale will say it's god's punishment for being a heathen, but I think maybe it's genetic ... Sigh ...