I am a klutz.
And a spazz.
The proverbial bull in a china shop.
I fall down, run into things, and hurt myself regularly.
Some of my more classic moments (in no particular order):
In college, I worked at a fine jewelry store and one of my “jobs” was to clean the crystal stemware. So I’m cleaning a crystal goblet, it smashes in my hand (Herculean strength?) and gashes my knuckle wide open—stitches.
A couple of weeks ago Hannah and I were shopping at our favorite outdoor mall and I tripped up some cement stairs, began wildly flailing, temporarily caught myself but then my foot got caught in the handle of my shopping bag. I wobbled crazily and then face planted.
Of course, that was bad enough but when I fall I scream. Loudly. So it’s not just a visual spectacle, but an auditory one too.
And I just happened to be right in front of the Joseph A. Banks window. My shenanigans drew quite a crowd of men inside the store peering out to witness my theatrics.
Or then again, they could have been staring at Hannah who was doubled over full-body-heaving with laughter.
Oh, no. We are not one of those concerned “are you okay?” families…nope, once we make sure it’s not life threatening all bets are off and the howling laughter begins. Sick, I tell ya.
Then there was the time that I was putting on makeup and using my eyelash curler (these babies need all the help they can get) and lost my balance. Yep, I ripped every single eyelash out of my right eyelid. Freak show.
Do you KNOW how long it takes lashes to grow back???
Earlier this week, I slipped on some ice outside the cottage. Bruised backside and skinned up palm.
But last night?
Last night takes the cake.
Let me set the scene…
Yesterday I posted this on Facebook:
I do not like to cook.
Truth is, the cooking’s not the worst part. It’s the planning. I just want someone to tell me what to make and I’ll make it.
So I totally appreciated the fact that my husband emailed me a link to a Pioneer Woman’s Steak Fingers with Gravy recipe (btw, is that “man food” or what?).
I got all the ingredients…no prob.
I made the steak fingers…no prob.
Then I started on the gravy. Which shall be referred to from this point forward as HADES GRAVY (insert pitchforks here).
It involved 1/4 cup of the (hot) grease from the steak fingers and flour being whisked together.
Picture a scalding hot iron skillet filled with a greasy brown paste. (The step before you add the nice cold milk).
I’m whisking like a wild woman because the good stuff is stuck to the bottom of the skillet so you have to scrape kinda hard.
Well somehow the whisk got caught and when it came loose it flung the scalding hot grease mixture ALL OVER my face, chin, neck and chest.
My hubby walks into the door expecting to find his “man food” waiting for him.
Instead he finds a sobbing burn victim covered in brown hot grease splatter.
My first trip (as a patient) to the ER.
I was hoping for this…
But instead was greeted by an utterly useless, personality-deprived receptionist who looks at my splatter burned face, neck and chest and asks why I’m there.
My first thought was “duh.”
But my “inner-Alabama” comes out in times of stress or tragedy.
So I replied, “I about burnt my face off cookin dinner.”
Apparently Illinoisans don’t get the pleasure of experiencing “inner Alabama” very often.
The look on her face? Worth all the pain…
While waiting for the Dr. to come back with my Rx, I text Jake a photo of my face.
His response? “Oh, that’s not so bad….I was expecting some Phantom of the Opera level carnage.”
What is wrong with my children?
The moral of this story?
Well, I’m not really sure there is one. Could be the pain meds?
But my “personal takeaway” from this little episode?
When it comes to cooking gravy or anything involving grease (or possibly just cooking in general)???
I’m going all “Taylor Swift” …
We are never ever ever ever ever
getting back together.