If it ain't broke, don't break it.
But then the inevitable... I did something really stupid to seal my tragic fate and ensure myself another year (or two or seven) chock full of misery and despair. I BROKE A MIRROR. Jesus Mary and Joseph Lieberman, why am I such a klutz?
Growing up I was seriously clumsy, gangly and astonishingly awkward. Believe me when I tell you that I was forced to drink from a sippie cup until I was 12; and not without reason. I successfully managed to drop, break, spill, crash or choke on everything within eyeshot. In some sort of desperate attempt to save her last remaining family heirlooms of value, my mom enrolled me in ballet class with the misguided impression that I might transform into this stunningly graceful swan or at least be able to walk without tripping over the carpet. I lasted about eight weeks before my mom yanked my ass out of there, accusing me of purposely wasting her money after I crawled, tripped, slipped and scuttled all over the stage during a recital.
"But mom, I LIKE valet!" I cried, completely devastated. And just to further crush my tiny child-dream of being a beloved international dancing phenom, my mom spitefully retorted, "Stop calling it valet! It's BALLET, with a B. Not only do you suck at it but you can't even pronounce it correctly".
Oh cruel, cruel world, why dost thou mock me so?
I'm still no Shelley Long when it comes to elegance and grace, but I like to think that I am able to function as a normal adult by planning ahead and making intelligent choices, especially when it comes to food which will inevitably end up on the front of my clothing. For example: should I choose the white cherry or coke flavored Slurpee? Marinara or alfredo spaghetti sauce? Squeeze-pack ketchup or dunk-cup ketchup (thank you, Whataburger)? Through deductive reasoning and critical thinking, I somehow manage to eke through life creating as little destruction and chaos as possible.
But then there are times when I don't really think about the consequences of my actions before it's way too late. For example, should I really reach over and try to answer my cell phone while shifting gears and changing tracks on the CD player? Should I hastily try to squeeze between the glass coffee table and the ottoman first thing in the morning while dodging the scampering cat (a situation which actually resulted in me, on the floor, with a 4x6 glass piece lying on top of me while the UPS man impatiently rang the doorbell wondering what the hell was going on)? And, ultimately, should I simultaneously try to walk, breathe and hold a small compact mirror? The answer, my dears, is HELL NO.
I have similar issues with clumsiness at times, involving poor use of depth perception and poor use of peripheral vision.
And since I am ass backwards in life, as perhaps you are also, I believe superstitions work opposite on me. You are now due 7 years of good fuckin luck!
My own pants-ripping experience means I am entitled to kill a rooster. I think.
You are a hoot! Enjoy your comments on Dooce and your site.