It's Me, Sara Louise

… WARNING… WARNING… WARNING…

Today’s post has absolutely nothing to do with my life in Le Petit Village at all.

It’s about me and my inability to go a day without injuring myself in some way. And this is not a new thing, it’s not like I was always suave and then moved to France and became Jerry Lewis awkward. I’ve always been an accident prone klutz. I once sprained my thumb while playing badminton, and not athletic badminton, this was Texas sun shine beer badminton (oh, wait, light bulb moment).

It seems I am completely unaware of the dimensions of my own body. While driving, I’m aware of the size of the vehicle and it’s relation to other cars on the road or in the parking lot, but despite having occupied my body for 30+ years, I cannot navigate around furniture without stubbing a toe, banging a knee, or jamming my hip into the corner of something.

My body is constantly covered in bruises and looks like The Boyfriend and I had an argument and I ‘fell down’. But nope, just me. Just me and my genetically acquired awkwardness.

Sidebar – One time, my mother fractured her foot while vacuuming. That is no easy feat let me tell you. That’s a special type of awkwardness. An awkwardness that I have clearly inherited. Thanks Mom.

That’s all I have to say today.

I’m sitting in my kitchen, having a cup of tea.

I missed the chair completely on my first attempt.

Who needs more than one attempt sitting in chair?

I do, that’s who.

And maybe my Mother.