Clumsy

I always thought that being clumsy was something that I'd grow out of, but now I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't. This depresses me because I've always thought that a sudden acquisition of grace would accompany some sort of magical turning point of grownupness, turning me from vague and dropsy child to elegant and poised adult. Also being able to round a sharp corner in the car without making sound effects, and being able to run down the street without starting to giggle. But it seems as though I am actually becoming more clumsy as the years go by.

Am I doomed then to remain an eternal adolescent, walking into chairs and spilling coffee on myself, and burning my fingers on the toaster? If so, I'd like some sort of gangly adolescent charm, please. And a thirteen-year-old's metabolism. As it is, the myriad bruises and scratches on my legs (hello table!) and the blisters and cuts on my feet (goodbye, kettle!) just seem to point to someone who is tragically inept at looking after her own physical wellbeing. That, and navigating successfully through space.

Somewhat delightfully, Jono has started to refer to my rather more goofy episodes as being intimidating - which is a nice joke even if it's born of his utter disbelief that anyone would ever find me even marginally impressive. Oh well, at least I'm not in hospitality anymore... I tended to be quite wildly intimidating around sandwich presses, pie ovens and freshly-washed glasses.
And tables, and chairs, and stairs... and the actual point of this post? I forget. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find the band-aids.