You did what?
Alas, this question is much too often asked of me. And unfortunately quite a bit this year. For instance, the other day Jim bent down to kiss me goodbye and stopped in mid-buss.
“What happened to your lip?”
“I dropped the roasting pan on my face.”
“You did what!”
That query again! I explained that being vertically challenged I used a long handled “reacher” to tease said pan down from a high cupboard. I forgot it was full of cake tins and it got away from me and gave me a good conk. Not too long ago I visited one of our most welcoming buildings and after a meeting stopped by the ladies’ room. There was a lovely drop-leaf table in there with a vase of flowers and other decorative baubles. I passed an admiring hand over the top and to my horror the table began to tilt. Dropping my handbag on the floor, I attempted to stop the downward slide but couldn’t. The table banged to the floor, shattering glass shards and water all over the floor. Now there aren’t many bathrooms with back doors so I couldn’t escape. Besides it made a god-awful noise and a flood of people rushed in. Aside from a broken table leg and and the collection from the tabletop, the worst damage was to my pride. The leg has since been glued and I have since opted to use an alternate powder room.
I seem to be the physical version of the verbal Mrs. Malaprop, who habitually misused her words. In my case it seems the klutz gene is overused. I well remember my first mishap. As a fourth grader I co-starred as the letter “A” in an alphabet play. The letter “Z” and I were to come through the doorway, stand on either side and greet the 24 other players as they passed through. I was the first to appear and was apparently a little shy delivering my lines. “Put some enthusiasm into your entrance, advised the director. I, of course, inserted too much verve and as I swing out my arms in salutation I knocked the door way down. My dad and another father, both unsuccessfully trying to hide their hilarity stage, picked up the door and held it to the end of the production. You may not be surprised to learn that put an early end to my dramatic career.
And just the other day – Easter Sunday in fact – I struck again, as Jim would say. At a delightful four-generation family gathering, I came into the living room to sit down next to the only other guest who was older than I am – she clocked in at a youthful 93 – and tried to pull up a chair to sit closer to her.
You guessed it. The wooden arm came off the chair. The hosts assured me that often happened and slipped it back into place.
I knew exactly what Jim was thinking: Dear Lord, it’s only April!