My friends and family tell me I’m a clumsy girl.
“Who me?” I reply. “Surely not.”
After today I don’t think I can deny it.
I have a bucket where all my spare change goes. I decided that today would be the day I would take it and deposit it in the bank. I take my coins to the machine, drop them all in and enjoy the rattling sound as they tumble down into places unknown.
“That machine is only for notes!” called the bank teller.
A group of disgruntled patrons behind me groan as the machine is put out of service whilst my coins are pulled out.
You might think that is enough to be considered clumsy but unfortunately for me it didn’t end there.
Most weekday afternoons I spend an hour at the local swimming pool. After walking away red faced from the bank I felt I had to cool off.
All geared up with goggles, swim cap – the whole works – I’m ready. Leap, splash, swim. I’m tearing through the water like an Olympian. (That’s at least what I like to think). I’m concentrating hard on speed, agility… WHAM! I crash head first into an elderly gentleman practising the back stroke. OUCH.
Apologies shared. No harm done but I decide to leave the pool before I pose more threat to myself or others.
Clumsy yes. A little dangerous? Most likely.
I’ll grab a quick lunch. There can be no harm in that right? Wrong!
I have recently become addicted to cheese and pickle sandwiches. My eyes become bulbous when I notice there is only one left. Like Gollum with his precious jewellery I snatch it up.
I find a table in a corner where I can contemplate the day, reply to emails and do all the usual things adulting involves. I take one bite into my sandwich. An eruption of pickle scoots across the table almost hitting the nice lady across from me and the cover of the miraculously clean book she is reading.
“I’ll get you some napkins,” the polite barista offers.
I think a full bib would be more appropriate with this mess. I can’t stop now. I purchased the sandwich. It would almost be a crime not to eat it. A lunch time later and I am covered in so many pickle stains I look like I’m wearing leopard print.
So with a lump on my head, stained clothes and a ban from my local bank for wrecking the machine I think it’s best to head homewards. That would be a great idea, If only I could find my bus pass…
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