I am clumsy. I just am. It never ceases to amaze my husband when he hears the crash and comes around the corner to ask “what happened?”
Sometimes I have good excuses. Like, the baby I was holding suddenly had supernatural strength and grabbed the plate off the counter I was cleaning and that’s how the plate fell to the floor and shattered.
Or, I tripped over the caterpillar pull toy left in the middle of the floor while trying to get out my evening vitamins and that’s how the capsule’s got spilled all over the floor. (Make sure we find every single one OK?)
Or, I was carrying the baby’s car seat (with resident baby inside) and the diaper bag (which is huge!) and foolishly decided that I could carry the potluck dish as well, and that’s how I dropped those carrots all over the back stairs.
But just as often, my excuses are pathetic. Like, my finger got caught on the thingy and I tried to grab the cup of milk as it fell and only succeeded in knocking it over and even when I picked it up it still slipped and spilled anything that was left in it all over the counter.
Or, I was running through the basement after throwing in a load of laundry and my pocket got snagged by the furnace and that’s how my pants ripped completely down the side.
Or, I was trying to wash that plastic resealable juice container, so I filled it with hot water and soap, and did you know that when you shake hot water in that thing it explodes?
Grrrrr, it really really annoys me! How come this kind of stuff never happens to my husband?
What is it about you that annoys you?