Friday, September 09, 2005

Gravity. It's the law.

Now that some of you out there have actually met me, and know me far too well to ever fall for my "graceful ballerina" persona, I guess I should just admit that I'm the clumsiest person in the world and turn it into a brag.

I am the clumsiest person in the world, and you're not. Nyah nyah nyah!

I am so clumsy I should get an award.

I've fallen down in some of the best places.

I've fallen down in front of crowds of strangers, and in front of crowds of people who knew me.

I've fallen down in a classroom full of seventh graders and a student teacher. I was supposed to be her mentor. I hope she doesn't think SHE has to trip and fall down in front of seventh graders too. Yeah, well, whatever it takes to get their attention. . . .

I've fallen down in the parking lot of Pizza Hut. And a farm implement store. (That one was one of my best; I broke my foot, sprained the other ankle, wrenched my wrist, and got to teach in a wheelchair during the week the elevator was out of order.)

The week of the wheelchair was also when I discovered that even though the restroom stall door was legally handicapable, the door to the restroom itself was WAYYYY too narrow to admit the chair. That's when I invented a new dance. I'd show it to you but fortunately for you, you can't see me. And please don't try to use your imagination here; your mind's eye will go blind.

Note to wheelchair-bound teachers: NEVER allow a student to wheel you down the hall during NASCAR season. The temptation is just too much.

I've fallen in the parking lots of restaurants.

I've fallen down the stone steps outside the gymnasium, been carried to the gym by the janitor, and proceeded to sell tickets while waiting for a ride to the hospital. Darn stupid wet leaf.

I've fallen down the stairs in this house several times. Fortunately, the cabinet against the wall at the bottom of the stairs generally breaks my fall.

I've fallen down on the playground. I've fallen down in the parking lot of my old school. I haven't initiated the parking lot of my new college yet but it's only a matter of time.

I've used Workmen's Comp in the emergency room, because of a fall.

Last night I was sitting in a kitchen chair. I dropped a green seedless grape on the floor. I leaned over in the chair to pick it up and the whole chair went over. Sideways. I have bruises on both wrists and a big black spot on one knee. And it wasn't even up to my usual spectacular par, for a fall. But, you know, it was a GREEN SEEDLESS GRAPE! And the floor was sort of clean, and the cat hadn't been inside for a few days. . . .

Five-second rule.

I haven't fallen off the deck yet, but I fell off Hula's. Fortunately, I did not crush her son.

Not only do I fall all the time, I also break my toes all the time. That's because I hate shoes and I shed them the moment I enter the house. Which means, of course, that there are shoes all over the house, under tables, under the sofa, behind things, etc, and when I am getting dressed in the morning, I have to crawl around on my hands and knees looking for shoes. Sometimes it takes so long, I run out of time and have to grab the first two matching shoes I can find. Good thing I've never been anybody's definition of "style." And since we are notoriously cluttery, there is always something to catch one of my toes and snap it. I learned how to tape those little piggies up years ago.

I also take my earrings off all over the house. There are little earring piles everywhere.
Before I knew I was one of Jerry's Kids, I just thought I was clumsier than the norm. Now, I know that not only am I clumsier than the norm, I have a disease. One that attracts Jerry.

Hide me, please? Please. Hide me?

I mean, what IS it with that guy? I don't do 'shrieking' all that well. When I was a child I was scared to death of him. Cinderfella my foot. One of these days on that telethon, he's going to shriek at some kid and send that wheelchair rolling to the restroom for shelter. And the outer door is going to be too narrow, and we're all going to see someone else do the 'frantic dance' for a change.

Because, you know, those cameras will be rolling like craaazy.

To sum up: Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Buttercup is marry' Humperdinck in a little less than half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape... after I kill Count Rugen.

No, wait. Wrong summary.

I am clumsy. I fall a lot. My knees are shot and will probably have to be replaced eventually. I can't wait. Mamacita, instructor. A blogger barely alive. Readers, we can rebuild her. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic blogger. Mamacita will be that blogger. Better than she was before. Better, stronger, faster.

The KING. OF. SPAIN!!! (Riverdance version.)

Whoops, wrong again.

Excuse me now, while I limp to the bathroom. In my house, all the doors are very, very wide. There are several reasons for that.

We are very, very fat. We've had wheelchairs in this house. We are not graceful. And when we do the 'frantic dance,' flowers wither and baby animals cry.

Come on over. You might want to stay behind me when we go down the stairs, though.

Want some grapes?