I’m clumsy.  Does anyone in my high school remember the time that I got literally hung up by my shirt on a cafeteria table?  It was one of my most embarrassing moments.

Tonight I baked an apple dessert.  I made myself a big heaping bowl of it fresh from the oven and topped it with cold milk.  I sat on the couch to chow down while Kevin and I watched–ironically–America’s Funniest Videos.  I was done with my apple oatmeal dessert, but there was leftover milk in the bowl so I got up to take it to the kitchen.  Kevin had his feet propped up on an exercise ball, which is the choice foot stool around this house.  As I got up off of the couch and tried to go to the kitchen, my leg nicked the side of the ball and sent me into an upheaval of a mess until, bam, I was faceplanted into the floor.  I could almost feel the crunch of my right shoulder and my right knee as they both hit the floor before the rest of me, but after Kevin helped me sit up, I just doubled over laughing and crying.  I felt drunk with the funnies because I could just imagine how the whole scene had played out from his view.

The big success, however, was that I kept the bowl upright though the landing ending up splashing most of the milk out onto me and the floor anyway.

After putting carpet cleaner on the floor and scrubbing it in, Kevin pulled out the vacuum to clean it all up and just shook his head.  “I feel like I’m cleaning up after a kid vomited or something.”

I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise given that I went head-over-heels down a flight of stairs twice in one week; once in my wedding dress 2 hours before our wedding and then 5 days later in Mexico on the way to dinner one evening.  My bruises still remain so I’m assuming I broke some blood vessels in the process of those two tumbles. 

So really, spilled milk is nothing to cry over.