Butterfingers

Not the candy bar. I wish. Cause I do like peanut butter. And I do like chocolate, but who doesn't? (Sal Blair, you can't answer that cause I know you don't do chocolate.) Butterfingers in the sense that I can't hold on to anything!

And the phrase, no use crying over spilled milk--I hate this phrase! I mean, to me, there is absolutely a use. But if I can't cry over spilled milk, then I'll boohoo over everything else I spill, drip, drop, throw on myself or floor or car or anywhere really. I don't drink milk anyways, so the saying doesn't actually apply.

I feel like it's inevitable that if I have something white on, I WILL spill or drop something on it or get it dirty in some way, shape, or form. How does that always happen? It does, doesn't it? If you're wearing white, look down. I bet you have a spot on your somewhere.

Actually, scratch that. I really don't even have to be wearing white. It's just more obvious to viewing audience when I'm wearing white.

But I promise that everytime I eat my zone bar breakfast on the way to work, I drop some of the "chocolate" (is it really chocolate? I don't know, but it's good) coating on my clothes. And cause it's summer it immediately, within 3 milliseconds, melts into whatever I'm wearing. I feel like I should just be used to it by now. Or try to get used to it anyways. Either that or bring a change of clothes for when I actually get to work so I don't look like I spent the morning rummaging through a dumpster.

Or we were in Atlanta the other week, and I was drinking some DRB (diet root beer...I'm not sure why I have to spell out these abbreviations for you) and of course it spills on my WHITE shirt. I think I've proven my point.

I was painting the other day, and got paint all over me. Even when I do the touch up painting, I find remnant splatters in random places later. Whether it's my clothes or myself, it ends up somewhere. It's like I should start doing projects in my birthday suit. Or was I born without any hand-eye coordination? I feel like I'm very coordinated, but for the times that I'm not, THIS is why I run.

And then I don't even want to get into dinner. I think I drop a piece of lettuce with vinaigrette dressing (so the olive oil gets into your clothes or the carpet real good) on myself everytime Casey and I have salad with dinner. And if we aren't having salad with dinner, then I drop whatever it is I'm eating. Like last night. Somehow the piece of broccoli, at some point in the transition from my plate to my fork to my mouth, managed to splat to the floor. Casey just gave me a sideways glance and said "I saw that." I don't really try to hide it anymore...You would think I need a giant fork or to position myself directly over my plate or a reminder of where my mouth is. It's really quite ridiculous and a little embarrassing. I might have to eat in the pantry next time we have people over.

I just don't get it, cause I'm not clumsy. For real, I'm not. But maybe this is the real reason we bought a house with hardwood floors...Katie always claims that the carpet near my side of the couch at the apartment we had last year had more spots on it cause I could never keep stuff on the plate (we ate dinner on the couch...who eats at a dinner table these days? Honestly, raise your hand if you do. I didn't think so.) I think all the spots on my side were from the time I when I tripped and spilled an entire plate of juicy grilled kabobs on the floor. It could not have possibly been from separate occasions. Scouts honor. See, I'm totally not clumsy.

I think maybe I get this from dad, cause it's obviously a genetic thing I'm sure. He usually finds a way to spill coffee or drip toothpaste on his shirt. Then he cleans it in the bathroom and walks out with a huge wet spot on his shirt...so not obvious right? Well, it's funny, cause sometimes I catch myself doing the exact same thing. (I love you daddy! I can only say something cause I'm the exact same way) It's funnier to me, cause in my head, I'm like "dad, why don't you just change your shirt", and sometimes it's cause you can't (maybe you're not at home) and sometimes maybe it's cause you know you'll spill again. I mean, I think coffee leaked out of my cup every single day on the way to work last week. Why does this stuff always happen to me is the bigger and way more important question.

And sometimes it does happen to other people. A couple weeks ago Casey dropped HIS dressing covered lettuce on the floor. This time, I laughed.

Until this morning when I spilled my coffee all over the floor at work...I guess in all reality, it doesn't have anything to do with what I'm wearing, but more that apparently I'm a butterfingers. Unfortunately, I prefer mini Reeses cups.

(Please note: Today's blog was going to be about a number of observations from last night's concert...but when my coffee ended up all over the floor, I just knew I had to incorporate my constant misfortune. Stay tuned for tomorrow.)