Klutz

This morning I dunked my thumb into my coffee.

No, not because I mistook my thumb for a doughnut but because well, it’s just something I do. No! I don’t mean that I enjoy dunking my thumb in coffee at regular intervals but that I’m clumsy like that.

I’ve been getting phantom bumps and bruises on body ever since I can remember. I’d get up in the morning and lo and behold there would be a brand new bruise I have no recollection of having acquired. I’ve probably bumped into every surface in my vicinity that it is humanly capable of bumping into with my legs, arms and even my head, at least twice over. I could even make a pastime of counting the number of bruises I had at any one time, but that would mean I’d spend even longer in the bathroom admiring their beautiful colouring and comparing their pain-inducing level. In fact I enjoy finding new bruises; it makes me look rather comically battered, like my body is more lived in than others somehow.

My dad used to shake his head and call me accident-prone when I was still little. I lost count of the number of drains I fell dramatically into, whether trying to walk across it or riding my bike straight into it. And my siblings didn’t like me very much because they would get blamed for not looking out for their clumsy little sister when we played together. Oh and don’t even get me started on the time I chomped on my own tongue while pretending to be Superman. It was a bloody affair, and a most satisfying classic injury.

Unfortunately my clumsiness also extends past the domain of my own body. And naturally Bran is the primary, innocent target to get in the way of my flailing arms and legs. I’ve stepped on, poked, scratched and done numerous other types of bodily harm to the love of my life. It’s lucky he loves me and stoically bears the suffering though he does remind me every time to try not to kill him. And I reply that I will try…..if I don’t inadvertently kill myself first that is.