Last week my post about the birds of Costa Rica was supposed to be followed by a post today about the bugs of Costa Rica. This is not that post. That post will happen next week.
Well, rather than rattle off everything that has kept me from actually writing a decent post about the insects with whom I made friends in Costa Rica, let alone really get to a computer in the evenings between getting home from work and falling asleep… I’ll tell you a more interesting story about how I am becoming more accident prone, or… we could say “klutzy”… when it comes to eating and drinking.
I’ve always been a bit of a danger to myself in the kitchen, knocking pointy objects like knives from the counter to the floor where my little piggies scream in abject horror at their impending doom as if they starred in a scaled down version of Final Destination is not uncommon. I’ve so far been able to whisk them out of the path of danger at the last moment, thus preserving them for another sandal season. But, while my toes have been spared, my fingers, hands and forearms have been burned and singed on hot parts of the oven and stove. I’ve nearly steamed the skin off of my thumb a few times, and I burned my tongue on hot liquid twice just last week. To top it off, last weekend during a round of Cards Against Humanity with friends, my errant tossing of a card to a friend resulted in The Great Wine Flood of January 2015 and one broken Ikea wine glass. At least everyone laughed.
Once I add in all of the occasions where I appear to have missed my mouth entirely with my beverage of choice, salad dressing that splatters onto my glasses (or the computer screen as I’m guilty of eating at the computer at work AND at home) and even having stabbed the corner of my mouth with a fork at least a handful of times because I wasn’t paying attention, leaves me wondering if one day someone will decide I’m incapable of being in charge of my own sustenance and they’ll just hook me up to a feeding tube and pump Soylent into me.
Unpleasant thoughts about Soylent aside, I choose to believe that my quick reflexes in the name of self preservation, or at least preservation of my toes, combined with my foible of being a messy eater, only add to my charm. After all, one of my friends continually drops food into her cleavage and we still invite her out to eat at restaurants.
But, back to the inspiration for this post that wasn’t supposed to be. I woke up this morning and thought that getting myself a doughnut sounded like a great thing to do. I invited Mr. Muse to join me for a doughnut purchase, and he mentioned he’d need a fancy coffee as well. Okay! On the way in I texted a coworker asking if they wanted a fancy coffee as well. They responded with a yes and their order and I headed into the coffee shop to order the fancy coffees.
Everything was going well. I was on a roll filling out the crossword puzzle taped to the pick up counter, my three drinks showed up and I got them into a tray. I got to the car, sat down, put the tray on my lap, handed Mr. Muse his coffee and as I reached over my shoulder for my seat belt: disaster struck. My coworker’s and my order flipped over as Mr. Muse and I sat, horror on our faces as they hit the floor mat. We scrambled. Mr. Muse grabbed my coworkers drink first as I reached for mine, the sleeve on the cup flew off and my drink hit the floor mat again. A choice word escaped my lips and I grabbed it again, and said, “Thankfully I make a point of making sure lids are on tight.”
My coworkers drink barely lost an ounce, mine spewed about a quarter of its contents on the floor mat. I pouted briefly, took a sip… a peppermint mocha, now with a touch of road salt. Like the episode of The Simpson’s where Homer roasts a whole pig in his yard, I said, “It’s still good,” and shrugged. Road salt, bits of teeny-tiny gravel and… whatever else was on the floor mat be damned – I take a multivitamin.
Mr. Muse, shaking his head and looking at my white jeans said, “You may have to go out and buy new jeans today.” I told him that was nonsense. I sit in an area of the office where nobody really sees me (after all, they usually forget I’m back there anyway) and I need to wash a load of whites anyway.
I thought you were writing about me, until I saw the white jeans. By the end of a typical day I have several new cuts and burns; egg yoke on the front of my sweatshirt; wood ash on the knees of my jeans; and a new bleeding wound on the top of my head from mashing it into something.
I have broken seven of my fingers over the years, some of them more than once. I have learned never to attempt drinking wine where there is light colored carpeting.
Welcome to the Klutz Klub!
I’m proud to be a member! I think. LOL. I’ve given up washing my “work” jeans until they are nearly standing up on their own. These white ones, however…. well – they’ll get washed tonight.
Hmmmmmm………….noticed ya kinda glossed over the wine part !! I’m betting that’s more dangerous for friend or foe than any coffee bout!!!…. lol 🙂
lol It was me accidentally hitting one glass which tipped it into another glass and they both came crashing down onto the table top. Wine everywhere and one broken glass. Thankfully it was a dark tablecloth with dark place mats – the red wine didn’t show up very much.
So, my weekday morning routine is incredibly . . . routine.
I wake, walk Benji, climb the steps, pick Snickelfritz up from the bed (he’s too feeble to jump onto or off), feed both Snick and Benji, escort Snick outside, carry Snick back onto the bed, work out, dress the kids, start making coffee for me & Duffy, pack lunches, finish making coffee, dress, help Snick off the bed, turn on and pack my car, start blending my coffee, wash dishes (as the blender does its thing), pour my coffee into three travel mugs, depart for work.
Almost every time? One of those three travel mugs ends up on the ground.
A little road salt ain’t gonna hurt anyone.
That’s why you go with triplicate in coffee? When one fails, at least you have two more!