Droppy McDropperson spilled the apple juice this morning and now the floor's all sticky. Droppy makes frequent appearances around here. Every time I sweep the floor I find another tiny shard of glass under the bookcase from one of the multiple items Droppy has shattered in the kitchen/dining area.
Droppy McDropperson is me, in case you haven't guessed. Todd started calling me that when I broke the third vase in two days after having several incidents that involved pumpkin pie filling and then applesauce landing in a wide radius on the floor/counters/me. I've always been a bit klutzy, but this is out of control. It's like the part of my brain that reacts without thinking to catch that falling item is broken. Thus I can see it happening in the same slow motion that kicks in in these situation, but instead of reacting I'm paralyzed into simply watching while thinking, "I should have been able to catch that, any normal person would be able to catch that." It's a bit disturbing.
Also yesterday I discovered (more than 24 hours after the fact) that I'd simply walked out of a restaurant (one three hours from home to boot- we were visiting family) without my purse. That would be the second time in six months that I've done that. Plus at least two or three times in the last few years before that. The people at the DMV just point and laugh now. I despair of me.
Thank God when I figured out it was missing and called the pizza place they said, "Yup, Droppy, we gots yer purse. Come'n get it." And furtherly blessedly, Todd's mom went out of her way to pick it up on her way home from work. I love that woman. Of course the last paragraph is just the official story. Truth is that I left it on purpose in order to bribe her to come visit us this weekend, but don't tell her. We're tricky like that.
In other news I heard a rumor that it's National Delurking Day. I'm not sure if this is true or not but I'm going to go with it because when a comment appears in my mailbox I jump up and down and do the happy hippy hoppy butterfly dance and then spin around doing jazz hands while shouting, "Hey Todd, Todd, I got a comment! I got a comment, Babe, aren't you happy?!?!? Somebody's reading my words! And they commented!! And it's not even my mom!! Do you think I'm the best blogger in the whole wide world or what?! Huh? Huh? HUH!!??!!??!?!" and then I do a little dance I made up while singing a song of my own composing about how much fun it is getting comments in which I compare new comments to "a summer's day," just like Shakespeare. And then I cry with happiness. And eat a cookie. Doesn't that sound like fun? So you should leave a comment. Especially if you don't usually. Especially if you moved further away from your beloved family and are thus responsible for me leaving my purse at Boston House of Pizza even though I didn't even have any beer. And then you should come visit. You know who you are.
Todd says "No comments please."