Undeniably, I fall and spill and damage myself and the objects around me quite regularly. But today I did something very special. Interestingly enough, it had nothing whatsoever to do with the pasta bar at lunch. I did get marinara on my white shirt (a noteworthy spot on the upper sleeve – I think that just has to be some sort of conspiracy) and some on one cuff – and this was before I ate a single bite.
The extraordinary event, in point of fact, had nothing to do with food or beverages or rough pavement or invisible people (I think) or anything of the sort. Today I inked a stamp on its felt pad and promptly dropped it stamp-side down onto my belly. It’s too blurry to read, but it says, “ANSWERED MARCH 15 2004.” You might wonder whether this episode really was out of character for me (given the questionable grace with which I conduct my day to day life). I have drawn on myself with ink pens (of various colors) on more than one occasion. I’ve written on myself with pencil, too. Nonetheless, I have never, in all the years I have used date stamps and stamps that say “DRAFT” and “COPY” and “FAXED 2/3/2001” and “COMPLETED NOVEMBER 2002” – rubber stamps that are self-inking or not – stamps that are red or blue or black, inadvertently stamped myself.
Make of it what you will. I just want to know what my stomach was asking me and by what means I satisfied its query.