Saturday, December 01, 2007

Queen of Klutz

For the record, I've always been a little accident prone. When you've got a 5'8" girl with size 11 feet and abnormally long limbs, accidents are bound to happen. But this week has been worse than usual.

Incident #1: I sideswiped Kevin's car. OK, this has nothing to do with my gangly arms and lack of coordination. But my klutziness certainly carries over to my driving. I have, after all, backed up into a CLOSED garage door because, when I looked over my shoulder, I saw sunlight. Only problem was that the OTHER garage door was open, not mine.
At any rate, last week I left to run an errand after Kevin had gotten home. I was backing out my minivan when I felt some unexpected resistance. Immediately I panicked and thought I'd run over the cat. So I pulled forward, opened the driver's door, and discovered that no, the cat was fine, but Kevin's car not so much. Kevin had parked his car in the driveway, which is not quite wide enough for two cars unless one car's nose is touching the garage door. Kevin's car wasn't. It was parked several feet back because he was planning on hitting the gym later. I didn't know that, I didn't notice that his car wasn't in the garage, and I certainly didn't see his midnight blue car parked in our unlit driveway.
Maybe this was a subconscious plot to make Kevin's nearly-new shiny car more like my beat-up embarrassment of a car. Maybe I'm just a bad driver. Either way, this was my first act of supreme klutziness of late.

Incident #2: I walked smack dab into a tree branch. Again, it was dark. We had just gotten home from our Thanksgiving road trip and I was walking next door to retrieve our mail from our super-nice neighbors. Again, our driveway and their sidewalk is unlit, and I was walking rather quickly since it was cold, when WHAM! I impaled myself on a crape myrtle. Right in the eye, no less. I'm sure my neighbor thought I was winking at her, but I couldn't open my eye. When I got home I had to pluck out several thorns from my eyelid, and the next day I had to visit my ophthalmologist and have her remove the remaining debris. Classic.

Incident #3: I caught my hand in the ladder going up to the attic, which resulted in the world's worst blood blister and an inch of missing flesh. How's that for a visual? I was super-motivated to get going on Christmas decorations this morning, and I must have climbed that attic ladder a dozen times in an hour. The pull-down hinge on the ladder is acting funky, though, so I hit it with my hand to pop the hinge back into place. Not smart, since the hinge closed right onto my palm. I screamed rather loudly, cried for about an hour, and haven't quite recovered yet.

I'm really praying that I don't have any more incidents, but maybe I need to review the 911 drill with the kids just in case.


Stephanie said...

You poor dear! (And your poor car.) You DO realize my husband does an awfully nice job at outdoor lighting for landscape (or driveways, or tree limbs, as the case may be), right? Sounds a bit underlit around your place.

And as for incident #3, he certainly can't help with that. It sounds like he got the exact same injury last week by getting his finger stuck in the slats of the garage door as he closed it too fast. To his credit, he didn't cry for an hour. But my daughter cried for him at the sight of Daddy's missing finger chunk, and blood gushing everywhere. I was certain we were heading for the ER. But if it makes you feel any better, it's not hurting him anymore now, so recovery should be on its way to you!

Megan said...

Oh so sorry. I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one who cries as an adult when she gets hurt - my kids played with water in the bathroom yesterday and I unsuspectingly walked in in crocs. Slipped down hard, slammed my upper thigh into the corner of the tiled thing at the end of the bathtub and seriously thought I broke a toe for a bit.

I didn't cry for an hour, but I definitely cried.

I'm so sorry about your major ouchie.

Chelsea said...

I usually don't cry for an hour. But this had been a bad morning (in which I'd already screamed like a shrew at my children) piggybacked on several consecutive bad nights of sleep. Plus, Kevin was not home and not answering his cell phone, so I just lost it. I'm sure God had a lesson in there for me, but I don't think the wounded palm actually made me anymore Christlike. The scar will be an interesting reminder for me, though.

soupablog said...

stigmata. hmm.