when i was two and a half years old, my family (which then consisted of me, my father, and my very pregnant mother) moved from a small apartment near the beach to a modest-sized house on a tree-lined street..the house i still reside in when not away at school. the first day we moved in, i decided that it would be a great idea to explore my new environment with my dog, vito, who was a year younger than me and three times my size (if that wasn't blatant foreshadowing to the life of midgetry that awaited me, i don't know what would have been).
with my fluffy, k-9 companion in tow, i toddled through the sunporch and into the kitchen, hung a right into the soon-to-be playroom, a left into the bathroom, and wandered across the living room until i reached the stairs heading to the second floor. my dad, a school teacher and part-time carpenter, had just finished ripping up the old carpet, leaving the aforementioned stairs a mess of glue residue and potential splinters. bored with what i had seen up until that point, i embarked up the steep flight, making it about halfway up before i tumbled, ass over elbows, back to my starting point. as i sat there in disbelief and bleeding from the shin, any and all adults persons in the vicinity that had up until that point been completely neglecting me rushed to my side. my diapered ass was subsequently scooped up and rushed to the bathroom for repair via neosporin and band-aids. despite the certain pain i was in, i didn't shed a single tear, for somehow i was aware that this was not the last time i would wind up injured as a result of my own devices. i have the scars to prove it.
many of my more painful moments started out much like that day had, when i was looking for an adventure or attempting an experiment or contest. there was the time my brother and i were pretending we were race car drivers and i stuck my mother's car keys into a make-shift ignition (an electrical outlet), causing my bowl haircut to stand up on end before i passed out onto my screaming sibling. there was the day that i was outside with jimmy luiso and thought it would be a good idea to sprint down the street wearing a dress, stupid hat, and patent-leather maryjanes..a good idea that led to a skinned knee and me sulking on a couch all easter sunday. i stepped on a bee in my bare feet to see if it would sting me (it did). in my very first t-ball game down mcmackin field, i got hit in the face with a line drive because i wanted to see just how far "in" the infield really was. a marcia brady-style encounter with a football occurred the week before my 8th grade social, all because i wanted to be one of the boys for a hot minute. two car accidents, countless phalanges slammed in windows and doors, close encounters with gym equipment and frothed milk (separately, surprisingly enough), even pulled muscles and bite marks from a particularly rowdy roll in the hay and a heart that has been tap danced on more than the parquet floor of michael flatley's private studio, the list goes on..each new entry that teensy bit more embarrassing than the one preceding it.
it was only natural that my klutziness was bound to follow me into the workplace like a stray kitten..looking nothing but cute and innocent until it turns the new sofa into its own personal scratching post. though my years in retail did heed their fair share of calamities, sooner or later i would jeopardize my own safety and the well-being of others in a corporate setting. today was that day when, approximately 7 minutes after i arrived at the office, i dropped a 20-plus pound box on my flip-flopped foot (business casual, fools..shut up), rendering me clumsy mcgimp until the swelling and throbbing ceases. apparently, the powers that be thought that i hadn't suffered enough from both pain and embarrassment and commanded me to trip over a bump in the carpet and skid into the refrigerator on the way to the first aid kit. continuing the journey down my shame spiral, my bosses, all three of them, continued to check up on me throughout the day, making sure that i wasn't engaging in any activity that could harm myself or those around me. i kid you not..i wasn't even allowed to use the stapler.
i had a point when i began typing this, but, like my sense of coordination and good judgement, it is long gone. however, the next time you see me atop a balance beam or holding a small child, make sure an ambulance is standing by. it's scary what i am capable of.
..knowing full well 911 will always occupy numero uno on my speed dial,
lex
with my fluffy, k-9 companion in tow, i toddled through the sunporch and into the kitchen, hung a right into the soon-to-be playroom, a left into the bathroom, and wandered across the living room until i reached the stairs heading to the second floor. my dad, a school teacher and part-time carpenter, had just finished ripping up the old carpet, leaving the aforementioned stairs a mess of glue residue and potential splinters. bored with what i had seen up until that point, i embarked up the steep flight, making it about halfway up before i tumbled, ass over elbows, back to my starting point. as i sat there in disbelief and bleeding from the shin, any and all adults persons in the vicinity that had up until that point been completely neglecting me rushed to my side. my diapered ass was subsequently scooped up and rushed to the bathroom for repair via neosporin and band-aids. despite the certain pain i was in, i didn't shed a single tear, for somehow i was aware that this was not the last time i would wind up injured as a result of my own devices. i have the scars to prove it.
many of my more painful moments started out much like that day had, when i was looking for an adventure or attempting an experiment or contest. there was the time my brother and i were pretending we were race car drivers and i stuck my mother's car keys into a make-shift ignition (an electrical outlet), causing my bowl haircut to stand up on end before i passed out onto my screaming sibling. there was the day that i was outside with jimmy luiso and thought it would be a good idea to sprint down the street wearing a dress, stupid hat, and patent-leather maryjanes..a good idea that led to a skinned knee and me sulking on a couch all easter sunday. i stepped on a bee in my bare feet to see if it would sting me (it did). in my very first t-ball game down mcmackin field, i got hit in the face with a line drive because i wanted to see just how far "in" the infield really was. a marcia brady-style encounter with a football occurred the week before my 8th grade social, all because i wanted to be one of the boys for a hot minute. two car accidents, countless phalanges slammed in windows and doors, close encounters with gym equipment and frothed milk (separately, surprisingly enough), even pulled muscles and bite marks from a particularly rowdy roll in the hay and a heart that has been tap danced on more than the parquet floor of michael flatley's private studio, the list goes on..each new entry that teensy bit more embarrassing than the one preceding it.
it was only natural that my klutziness was bound to follow me into the workplace like a stray kitten..looking nothing but cute and innocent until it turns the new sofa into its own personal scratching post. though my years in retail did heed their fair share of calamities, sooner or later i would jeopardize my own safety and the well-being of others in a corporate setting. today was that day when, approximately 7 minutes after i arrived at the office, i dropped a 20-plus pound box on my flip-flopped foot (business casual, fools..shut up), rendering me clumsy mcgimp until the swelling and throbbing ceases. apparently, the powers that be thought that i hadn't suffered enough from both pain and embarrassment and commanded me to trip over a bump in the carpet and skid into the refrigerator on the way to the first aid kit. continuing the journey down my shame spiral, my bosses, all three of them, continued to check up on me throughout the day, making sure that i wasn't engaging in any activity that could harm myself or those around me. i kid you not..i wasn't even allowed to use the stapler.
i had a point when i began typing this, but, like my sense of coordination and good judgement, it is long gone. however, the next time you see me atop a balance beam or holding a small child, make sure an ambulance is standing by. it's scary what i am capable of.
..knowing full well 911 will always occupy numero uno on my speed dial,
lex