Recurring Series: Clumsy Adventures by AM #1

As a child I was infamous for my clumsiness. I was one of those sweaty kids that ran everywhere without the dexterity and agility to avoid obstacles like furniture, puddles, gravel, or my little brother's large skull. I have more memories than I can count that begin with a routine action and end with my mother's fuzzy, frantic face leaning over my inert body.

There was the time in Italy when it rained and Sarah's bedroom flooded, and I ran to get a towel and ran back in with the towel onto the wet marble floor, and then I remember no more. Or the time when I was bouncing around in Jeff's crib with him, and wanted to grab the blue plastic cup that was sitting on the low table beside the crib, and I remember leaning and reaching down for it, and then I remember no more, other than the vague sounds of mother and sisters screaming. Then there was the time when Jeff had climbed up onto the kitchen counter, and I had the bright idea of catching him to help him get down. Jeff was 2 years younger but a sturdy lad with a sizable noggin, and I remember standing there with arms outstretched while he jumped, and then I remember no more.

The coup de gras of the Italy years may have been the time when Mom was late to go visiting teaching, and in my efforts to be helpful, bellowed: "I'll shut the van door, Mom!" and proceeded to do so while somehow leaving my left ring finger in the path of the closing door. I do remember how that one played out--the screams, the panic, the rush to the hospital, my own disgust over the next few weeks while watching my nail blacken and fall off.

I shall leave the England years, the woeful Bothell years of puberty, and the painful mission years of Brazilian cobblestones for another time. This is all meant to be background to what I know will be a recurring series on the blog: unaccountable, inexplicable acts of overt and embarrassing clumsiness by Ann Marie (Josh will not be contributing, as he is the coordinated part of this duo), this time without the excuse of being a toddler, child, or pubescent, when I was fairly new at operating a human body, or at figuring out what to do with extremely large feet.

No, I have definitely been an adult now for a good decade and a bit, and have no excuse for any of the events, present and future, that I will share with you.

The one I feel driven to share happened this past week in the breakroom at work. I had gone there with the intent of getting more ice for my water glass and topping off my water bottle, which was about 3/4 full. I stood up to the water machine, and instead of leaving the bottle upright and sticking it under the spout, I proceeded to (literally) upend the bottle, sending an Old-Testament-like gush upon the floor. The bizarre part of the event was that there was no clumsy fumbling; no losing my balance and letting go of the bottle or anything--no, like a strange, even-keeled robot, standing completely still, I tipped the mouth of the bottle down and poured it all out onto the floor. The really awkward part was that the guy who works down the hall in contracts was standing about 18 inches away, filling his coffee mug, and observed the whole thing. He watched me mop up the puddle I'd made, leaving me to say the thing I have found myself saying many times over the years, which still really doesn't do anything to make it all less awkward: "Well, at least it was just water, right?"

*****

JD here. I have nothing to add.