I’m clumsy. It’s something that I’ve gotten used to over the years. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, there is a fairly good chance that before the day is over I’m going to trip over my own feet, run into something, trip over something or manage to bruise or injure myself in some fashion.
When I reached the age of 10, I went through a clumsy phase and unfortunately, I have never gotten over it. My sisters nicknamed me Grace because of my obvious lack of that quality. I thought it was mean at the time, but I’ve come to embrace and accept my stumbling alter ego.
I managed to keep my clumsiness from my co-workers for a short time. But after several recent incidents, including, and I’m not making any of this up, hitting myself in the face with a hammer when pulling a shelf off the wall, getting the heel of my shoe tangled in the cuff of my pants and falling down the front steps of my babysitter’s house, and numerous other stumbles and face plants, the secret of my lack of coordination is out of the bag.
Although I’ve always been clumsy, my lack of coordination was recently taken to a new level and I actually broke a bone. While the pain of a broken bone was far from fun, the most painful part of the whole ordeal has been explaining my injury to my concerned acquaintances. Even though most are asking what happened out of genuine concern, the story always ends the same way. I explain what happened and my friends say, “You broke your foot doing that?” After the surprise wears off, there is a lot of laughing, teasing and questions about my sobriety at the time. (If I had been drinking, at least I would have had an excuse.) The reaction has been the same nearly every time I’ve told the story.
That’s why I’ve made an important decision today. From now on I’m going to lie. I got the idea from a friend who had some “work done.” Whenever someone asked her why she was bandaged up, she would make up a different story. I’ve decided that should be my new policy.
Unfortunately, unlike my friend, I am a horrible liar. I feel bad when I’m dishonest with people, and I feel the need to tell. So this will be my official notice. If you ask me how I injured myself and I say I broke my foot during the running of the bulls or in a mosh pit at a heavy metal concert or when I went sky diving last weekend, it is a complete and utter lie. I’m afraid of heights and bulls.
I’m working right now to compile a data base of possible accident stories, the crazier the better. I stumbled while climbing Machu Picchu. I single handedly saved a family of bunnies from an angry mountain lion. Sure, everyone will know that I’m lying, but fortunately for me, the real story sounds equally ridiculous, so maybe everyone will just roll their eyes and assume the real story is just another fabricated tale.
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