Ok, time to reach out to my fellow klutzes.
First off, when I was a young whipper snapper as the older generation likes to say, I tended to walk on my toes. Maybe I knew deep down I was only going to be 5’4″ and wanted to be taller. Who knows. Today I don’t walk on my toes any longer (I think) – unless you count walking up stairs on my toes which I still do.
However, I still have a problem with my feet many years later.
I won’t go into the gruesome details of explaining my feet. While I’m sure there is some foot fetish person reading this, the rest of you don’t care. Now, don’t be thinking they are all that bad cuz they aren’t. Except the one toe I busted open and I have lost the toenail twice. But I digress.
No, the issue my feet have is staying on the ground. If I wasn’t walking in the air, I was tripping over a feather as my pops would say. Ok, I’m a klutz. (Hence why I broke that toe by the way). I can be walking for no reason and my feet just decide they aren’t going with me and so the rest of me does that slow motion decent into the trying to act cool while I’m flailing like an idiot. You know the one. Arms swinging to catch one’s balance as the rest of you flies forward rapidly. Or maybe you even trip and hop forward a few steps then try and act cool.
Once in a blue moon, I even need to use that duck and roll move I learned growing up to prevent forest fires. I mean catching on fire. Landing after tripping on one’s own feet is tough. But while you sit or lay there on the ground, you begin to laugh at yourself before others get a chance too. Afterall, you know you aren’t hurt (pride doesn’t count) and you know it must have looked pretty darn funny. You look back and don’t see a massive boulder in your path so your excuses start to dwindle down. So you just suck it up and laugh.
And if I had a dollar every time I bang my toes into things I’d be a millionaire ten times over. Getting out of the shower – check. Walking by the bed – check. End table – check. Corner – check. Dog laying on floor – check. Carpet only – check. It really is sad.
Think about it, I’m just talking about feet that don’t work. This doesn’t include the numerous bruises people ask me about that I have no idea how I got them. I bang into more walls and corners and doors. I don’t even flinch anymore. I just keep moving. I’m like the terminator. Cuts, no problem. You should see the collection of scars I have. Each with their own little klutzy story to tell.
The average klutz will just get hurt a lot. But it takes true professional klutz to admit they have a Klutz for Life Membership Card. Do you have one?
~~~~~~~~~till we laugh again~~~~~~~~
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