Okay, maybe there’s something endearing about a girl who trips over her own feet. But, besides attracting good-looking vampires, I can’t think of anything off-hand.
I did gymnastics and ballet as a kid. I should be graceful and willowy and light. I shouldn’t have to invest in plastic wine and water glasses because I’ve broken every damn piece of glass, ceramic or porcelain we’ve ever owned.
I don’t mean to. It’s just, I tend to do things (talk, think, move, eat) a little fast- especially when I’m doing something I don’t necessarily love, like chores. In my mad dash to finish doing dishes or vacuum, I often end up with something broken on my hands.
Last month, however, I almost broke myself when I closed the trunk door of my car on my head.
Yes. I’ll just let that sink in for a minute.
I blame it on how the French park bumper to bumper. After work, I threw my materials into the trunk of my car as I usually do, and then brought down the trunk door –again, as usual – except, by some wonder of physics, I managed to clip the top of my head with the corner of my trunk door and I nearly knocked myself unconscious. I screamed and leaned against the car behind me, hands clamped to my forehead, while practically sitting on the hood of said parked car. My head started bleeding but I’d be late to pick the kids up from school if I stopped to have it checked out. So I drove with one hand and stopped the bleeding with one of those extra Mcdonalds napkins that are always found in the glove compartment of a mom’s car and prayed I didn’t have a concussion.
When I got to the children’s school, a French parent I often talk with asked me what happened. And when I told her she got very serious and said: “Oh! I did that last year. Knocked myself clean out! – concussion, blurry vision and everything. You must be careful!”
I felt a little better. Guess this is just one of the many dangers of being a suburban mother in France. You learn something new every day.
Needless to say, If someone parks too close behind me, I will sit on the hood of their freaking car to get in and out of my trunk. Ass-marks be damned.
Ever seriously hurt yourself in some ridiculous, ridiculous way? Are you clumsy in life or carefully precise? Does this change when you’re writing? (I know I’m a lot more careful with my words and actions when I’m writing them down)