On being true

I had to wait a few days to talk about this. But before I do, I need to explain something about myself. Now this is not for the weak, so if you have any doubts about what you can or can not handle reading, now would be a good time to click the back arrow and move on.
I was born a klutz. A true dyed-in-the-wool spaz. It is not only a physical malady but a social, mental and possibly, spiritual issue.
Let's talk about the first day of sixth grade. There I was in my white and pink pinstripe pants, my white moccasins, and my delicate pink button-up shirt. My hair was washed and combed and a pink bow was placed ever-so-neatly on top. I had on my very favorite jelly bracelets and let's face it folks I was the picture of sixth grade perfection. Now let's move forward to lunch. Out on the hill the boys were playing a game of flag football. In my desire to be more than your typical sixth grade girl I decided I needed to play. As I ran on to the field with all of my young girl exuberance and freedom I failed to take notice of the only place on the whole school grounds that was a muddy bog the exact place that every other human in the vicinity had been able to avoid. As stated earlier, klutz. As my foot hit the mud I found myself "slip-sliding away". When I stood up it looked as if I had been hosed down with mud and muck. I had gone from sixth grade darling to crap-house rat, all in a matter of seconds.
Now that is just one story. I could tell you about the fact that I did not make it through one meal until...wait, nope...I haven't made it through one meal in my life w/o spilling something on myself, I have bruises and cuts all the time from banging into door jams, cupboards, car doors, what-have-you, I have accidentally spilled bleach on more clothes than Wal-Mart stocks, I have walked into more than 1 or 10 glass doors, I have fallen into puddles, lakes, fires, holes, love, window wells, and countless other depths, I have fallen up and down many flights of stairs, I have tripped, fallen, banged, bumped, whipped, brained, slit, cut, hit, slammed and crunched myself so often I don't always remember where or when specific injuries occurred. I am a verifiable mess.
Now that I have explained myself let me get to the whole point of the story. On Tuesday night, after watching the Dancing with the Stars finale on-line, Go Yamaguchi! I was doing my nightly lock up. I opened the garage door and realized that I had not parked Van Helsing( the boys picked the name) inside. There are three concrete steps from the laundry room to the floor of the garage and I only grazed the first. I completely fell off the stairs breaking my toe (for the fifteenth time, literally) bruising my other foot, slamming my hip into the concrete and shredding any and all self-respect I had for myself. You want to know the worst part? All I could do was cry like a little girl. I had had enough. Right then and there was the culmination of all of my years of klutziness and I could take no more! #@!#%$&* this body and it's inability to protect itself! I was through. I limped my little wounded self to the bathroom sat on the edge of the tub and wept. (All the while my poor, sweet Dave was asking if there was anything he could do.)
Now the problem with my klutziness is it is never bad enough to warrant hospitalization or surgery or anything that might awaken my body to the fact that it is slowly destroying itself. So instead of flowers, get-well cards, and concern. I get snickers, smirks and embarrassment. So I decided on the edge of that tub that I was done, good-bye klutz hello graceful butterfly. And I tried, I really did, I tried to find my inner grace. Right up until the point that I was walking out of my bedroom, tripped on the box of wipes, caught my foot in the handle of the diaper bag, slammed my shoulder into the side of the door and kicked the actual door with my broken toe. Then I realized ......I am what I am. So my friends, all I can say is..................................Hello, my name is Marnae and I am a klutz.