I have mentioned this in passing once before, but now’s time to expand on that:
I’m extremely clumsy.
Before you start with the “Oh yeah, me too, totally,” shut up! You know nothing! It’s almost become trendy lately to be a clumsy dork, so now everyone’s trying to jump on the klutz bandwagon. Well I’m here to tell you right now: I’ve been a klutz since before you were born. (I’m also 237 years old, but let’s leave that for another post.)
When I say I’m clumsy, I don’t mean I occasionally slip on recently washed floors (although that happens, too). I mean every day that I manage to avoid accidentally inflicting damage upon myself due to sheer stupidity can be considered a major success. It’s a special brand of clumsiness. Nay, it’s more than mere clumsiness. It’s clumsiness mixed with extreme absent-mindedness and idiocy.
How bad is it? Well, let’s just say I’m surprised I’m still alive. For example, I was once using a towel to dry two knives at the same time. Midway through this complicated procedure, I realized that while the towel was sliding up and down the blade of the first knife, the sharp end of the second knife was basically sliding up and down my wrist. A few millimeters was all that stopped me from ending up as the most embarrassing case of accidental suicide in history.
Now you’re thinking, “Come on, Daniel, it can’t be that bad. You’re just bringing up an isolated case from many years ago. But feel free to ignore me, since I’m just a hypothetical person you have conveniently inserted into your post as a clichéd and overused joke device.” You know what, figment of my imagination? I think I will ignore you, because you clearly don’t know what you’re talking about. Deal with it. And don’t be such a brown-hoodie-wearing little crybaby about it.
To further illustrate just how frequent and over-the-top these moments of clumsiness and brainlessness are, allow me to focus on three specific episodes. All of them happened during the course of a single weekend. This past weekend. Please trust me when I say that none of what follows is made up or exaggerated for comedic effect. This is 100 percent real. This is my life. Every day.
1. Hot stove make ouchie?
My wife cooked dinner. On an electric stove. Cooking dinner requires a hot stove. I was right next to the hot stove and witnessed the frying pan being moved away from it. I was perfectly aware of the stove being hot. Cut to 20 seconds later: I notice some cat hair in the vicinity of the hot stove. I try to sweep the cat hair from the stove with my hand. My whole palm makes full contact with the burning hot stove. I cry out like someone who just had their hand burned by a hot stove. The curtain falls. At least I was smart enough to avoid putting ice on the burn.
2. Coffee. Shaken, stirred, spilled all over.
My wife woke me with a coffee in bed (Did I ever mention I have an amazing wife? Because I have an amazing wife.) Once I was half-done with my coffee, I decided to migrate to the kitchen and finish drinking it there. I picked up the cup with the caffeine-laced beverage, grabbed my smartphone and some clothes to change into, and proceeded to the kitchen. I was about to place my cup on the kitchen counter when I noticed some cat hair on it (are you starting to see a pattern?). A normal person would place the cup and the smartphone on the counter, go and put on some clothes, then return to clean cat hair and other foreign objects from the counter.
I am not a normal person.
Instead, I tried to free up a hand…by placing the smartphone under the armpit of the same arm that was holding my coffee. Sadly, that armpit already contained some of the aforementioned items of clothing. As a result, these items began to fall. To counter that development, I frantically moved to grab them with the hand that was holding the phone. This motion made the phone slip out of my hand…to which I responded with a full body shake usually reserved for people prone to severe epileptic seizures. The combination of all these jerky movements and laws of physics forced the coffee out of my cup and onto the counter, the nearby clean dishes, the clothes I was about to wear, the smartphone I almost dropped, and my naked torso (ladies).
Side note: I am actually still wearing the coffee-stained T-shirt as I write this, against my wife’s better judgment, because aside from being a klutz, I’m also a massive slob when it comes to clothing.
3. Belt buckle ball buster.
We were cleaning our house this weekend. On the floor of the bedroom, there lay a pair of jeans belonging to yours truly. The jeans lay there in twisted knots of shame, after having been haphazardly discarded by me the night before (see “clothing slob” above). I had a simple task: to lift the jeans off the floor and straighten them out. To achieve this goal, I grabbed the top of the jeans with both of my hands and gave them a single, forceful shake…
Fun fact: The front of the jeans was facing me.
Fun fact number two: A belt with a rather heavy metal buckle was inside the jeans.
Fun fact number three: The area of my crotch and the belt-having part of the jeans were located at equal height.
Fun fact number four: I did not take any of the above facts into consideration when I vigorously jerked the jeans forward and then back toward my body.
The belt buckle made a powerful, almost audible impact with the part of my anatomy that contains the testicles…which was a contrived way of saying the buckle hit me right in the nuts.
My response to this collision was level-headed and dignified: I immediately collapsed on the floor, rolling around and grabbing my groin with both hands. I let out loud noises that some would describe as “high-pitched, girlish screams” but that were actually very effective communication techniques I applied to convey the distress and discomfort I was experiencing.
With the amount of damage I cause to myself and our property (mostly myself, though), I sometimes wonder how my wife has tolerated me for this long. On the other hand, she does find these moronic episodes hilarious (after making sure that I haven’t caused myself permanent injury). But maybe all of this works out in the end? My wife takes care of me and makes sure I don’t murder myself. I entertain her with a nonstop, unscripted slapstick routine. Tell me that isn’t how the perfect marriage is supposed to work!
Are you clumsy? Do you wish you were? Can you beat my stories? You can’t, but let’s see you try.
23 thoughts on “Hi, I’m Daniel, and I’m a goddamn klutz”
Hi Daniel. I’d like to write about this piece in a feature about inspiration I started over in yeahwrite’s Coffeehouse. Your play-by-play account in this had me rolling because you described your causes and effects so well. I think the community could learn from you. Do you mind if I write about it?
Oh, by all means, feel free do so. Then I can take solace in my misery and pain serving as inspiration to others!
Good to hear you enjoyed the read.
I am very klutzy, too. I will trip over any and everything, and I have burn scars from my carelessness, too.
Ouch! Somehow I have avoided burn scars from that stove fiasco, but that’s not to say I’m in the clear yet…
I hope you realize that, after this post, your life-assurance premiums will rise, exponentially. And it is also clear that you have an obsessive fear of cat hair!
You naively assume that there’s a company there that would even WANT to insure me in the first place! And yes, cat hair is the bane of my life…the battle is not over yet, hair!
Oh boy. Well,
1. Just about every time I try to push up my sleeves I succeed in punching myself in the tit. I have tight sleeves and my hands slip. You would think I would remember this, but I always forget and the punching ensues. And I’m usually at work.
2. I roll at least one ankle whenever I walk on a sidewalk. Which is often.
3. I often hit my head when I’m putting my work bag in my car. Again, you would think I’d remember from previous experiences, but maybe hitting my head gives me temporary amnesia.
Your post made me giggle throughout 😀
Ha, those are some pretty consistently repetitive moments of clumsiness. I salute you! And I’m happy that my self-inflicted pain can be a source of giggles for you.
How did you survive long enough to meet your wife? LOL (says the woman who caught in her bare hands the glass panel that fell out of the frame of a hot oven door. Well, I wasn’t gonna let it fall to the floor! It might have broken or damaged the floor tiles!) 😀
Ha! Don’t you just love it how our brains have the most messed up priorities when reflexively reacting to stuff like that?
Your wife IS amazing! (As are you, my dear.)
No cat hair is worth dying over… just saying.
I’m thinking that it’s good you don’t drive…..
“No cat hair is worth dying over.” Yeah, tell that to the stupid impulse part of my brain!
And yes…me not driving is probably having to save more human lives than all the panic around Ebola.
God bless your wife for seeing to your needs… and keeping a first aid kit handy maybe. I used to think my husband a klutz for spilling a full glass of wine in the bed… just a few red wine stains on the sheets and the WHITE towel he used to sop it up with… nobody was harmed and only alcohol was abused. He is graceful compared to you.
Ah, the classic “red wine on white clothing/towel/cat” routine. Always a joy!
And yes—I am here to make other clumsy people to look well-adjusted by comparison.
I’d like to say my fractured nose from opening the fridge door tops these, but I don’t think it comes close. Especially when you consider the cumulative nature of yours, not to mention the seriousness (wrist slicing, palm scalding). And all for cat hair. Nope. You win, hands–I mean, burned palms–down. Perhaps you might want to invest in a body bubble?
Actually the “hitting yourself with a fridge door” story does sound on par with some of my worst. You should expand on it!
As for the body bubble…not a bad idea, but knowing myself, I’d probably find a way to suffocate inside of it, so thanks, but no thanks.
Haha, silly me. What was I thinking?
I used to think I was clumsy. Not anymore. I bet when your wife gets together with her friends your ears burn.
Incidentally, my ears also burned when I once accidentally used an iron instead of a telephone.
(OK, so maybe that didn’t happen…yet.)
I am a little clumsy. Well enough to acquire the nickname Grace from an amused brother-in-law. Sadly I cannot beat your story, but will continue with my endeavors.
I bet there’s a story behind the “Grace” nickname. You must tell us!
I trip over invisible objects. There is absolutely nothing in the way. How do I accomplish this feat? I don’t know. I am told it is hilarious to watch. I told you it was not as good as yours.
That is actually quite impressive. It’s almost like a superpower. You see things that other people can’t see. Things that aren’t there. And then you bravely…stumble over them. There’s something to it!