Why is it that some folks are blessed with a natural grace and others, like me, are natural born klutzes? Is klutziness genetic? Or is it environmental? One thing’s for certain, klutziness is hazardous to one’s health.
I’ve fallen down stairs. I’ve fallen up stairs. I’ve slipped on wet bleachers and slid on my bottom from row eight all the way down to row one. I’ve fallen out of a bus and into the snow. In one week I slipped on ice two days in a row bruising my left knee on the first day and the right one on the second. I’ve fallen in various kitchens three or four times over the years. Is it any wonder I dislike cooking?
As a kid I fell out of bed on a regular basis, and I’ve exited a tree ass first on occasion. Once I was knocked into the middle of a Tilt-a-Whirl carnival ride when the car I was exiting swung around and sent me sprawling. I hit my head on one of the support bars hard enough to see stars circling alá Sylvester the cat.
I’d like to think I’m resilient, that I take a licking and keep on ticking. The truth is, I’m so astonished that so far none of my escapades have led to injury or even death that I can only assume I’ve been living a charmed, yet clumsy life. It’s a good thing I’m not a cat. If I were I’d be all out of lives.
Here’s another of my favorite klutzy scenes. I give you Ross and the leather pants from Friends.