Le monde de fromage de Kate

I have to resist the temptation to talk about EVERY little fall and malady that I have. If I didn’t I should have to re-title my blog. I’d have to use something like “Le Monde de Kate Who Falls Down All the Time and Who Has Rather Gruesome Pustules and Other Repugnant Ailments All Too Often and Who is Obsessed by Her Life of Regrettable Mishaps.” It’s a little wordy. Besides, I am not a COMPLETE freak.
Anyhoo, I refrained from mentioning the notable day that I walked into Walmart (is that not notable in and of itself in a festive and trashy kind of way?) and promptly biffed it big time – flat onto the ground. Something about it was just inherently more humiliating than had I fallen, say, in Nordstrom. I suppose this makes me a calamity snob. The fact that no one, not even the “Friendly” Walmart greeter, offered any sympathy or help to me at all, didn’t help my snooty attitude. I kid you not – it seemed that people would have just stepped over me and said, “Look away, Wanda June! That big ol’ lady felled down on the floor and cussed really bad!” They have such good customer service at Nordstrom that if I’d fallen there they’d have probably given me free jewelry or shoes just to make me feel better.
What I actually intended to recount today was the festive tumble I took this morning. Let me preface this by saying we rarely, if ever, use our actual “front” door. We use a door that’s almost in the front of the house (that is conveniently next to the garage). Today, as I left for work, I decided to go and get the leaflet that someone had left on our “front” door; it had been there for days. On the way up the path I tripped. I fell with a resounding splat on the pavement and the pine needles and the dead leaves and sticks and things. It was NOT my fault; there’s a notable unevenness in the pavement right there and I’ve not used the path for a long time because it has been covered in snow and blah blah blah – you get the picture. So I had a bruised, bloody, scraped up knee/leg. A clever person would have gone into the house right then and there and provided first aid to the wound. I decided I’d just drive to work and deal with it as I went. I first tried to find a tissue. I like to live in a very tissue-rich environment, I should say, but I could find nary a clean tissue or napkin – nothing. I then pulled a Band-Aid out of my purse. Turns out it was the faux skin kind of Band-Aid that has no absorbency whatsoever. I didn’t want to walk into the hospital with blood running down my leg – that’s so passé. Luckily, I found some little facial oil-blotting papers in the deep recesses of my purse that I used to staunch the blood.
So here’s the moral of the story. There are two noteworthy revelations I had because of today’s smash up. (And you thought it was the same ol’ boring clumsiness saga.) Oh – THREE things. First, if you use facial oil-blotting papers to soak up blood, they STICK quite securely to the wound. Second, I finally learned where to get free Band-Aids at the hospital (the same-day surgery waiting room right down the hall). Lastly, if you stick your knee in the restroom sink to thoroughly clean your injury, your sock will inadvertently get sopping wet (though you’ll be really grateful if you’re wearing a skirt – maybe this is why I have many skirts).

Yes, today I spilled my beverage again. I admit this is not an unusual occurrence, but it would be misleading to say it was constant or daily, as a rule (I won’t mention the fact that I spilled enough times at my last job that they got me one of those “commuter” mugs with a lid on it and wouldn’t let me use my mug with the Smurfs on it). Nor do I want to be pathetic enough to add a “spill” category to my blog, because my propensity to fall AND spill might seem pitiable traits, instead of merely quirky and charming as they are now.
BZZZZZZT!!!! Don’t deny my little world of comforting delusions!
Anyhooooo, yesterday I had a 20-ounce cup of coffee with a lid on a lunch tray. I had successfully negotiated the various doors and stairways (once or twice I have failed that challenge). I got to my desk, the coffee flew off the tray, thrown, no doubt, by those invisible people who trip me. Even with the lid on coffee managed to coat a goodly portion of my desk, most notably my keyboard tray and my keyboard. It then leapt to the floor, lost its lid and made a good-sized puddle, leaving splatters all over the drawers and my chair. I spent a long time yesterday popping the keys out of my keyboard so that I could clean the inside, wiping down five bijillion surfaces and making many trips to the restroom to get towels out of those machines with motion sensors that parsimoniously dispense only ONE TOWEL AT A TIME. Housekeeping had to come and clean the carpet. I think I’ve ruined my nice squishy gel-filled wrist rest. When I got home I discovered a very large brown stain on my bodice. The whole thing wasted a lot of time. Needless to say, I did not refill the coffee yesterday. I figured that was asking for trouble.
Today, however, I thought I could start anew. I held that Styrofoam coffee cup onto my tray with a vise-like grip. I set safely out of the way on my desk. I even managed to drink some of it. A little later, though, I somehow, for no apparent reason, managed to literally fling the cup out of my hand. The lid, naturally, came off in the process. Yes – coffee all over the desk. On some of the mail. And down the wall. And in those weird, difficult-to-access “cable” crannies under and behind the desk.
It is genetic, but that’s a story for another time.

Yes, I fell down today. I fell down after I ripped a hole in my nice linen pants with one of those sword-like hook things from a hanging file (I tell you, if you ever need a very effective weapon in your office suddenly…). I should have taken that as a sign to close the drawer and just leave everything alone. But I was oblivious.
And, indeed, the fact that I fell down was not surprising. The MANNER in which I fell down, on the other hand, was pretty impressive. A bottom file drawer on my desk was open and I was standing right by it (with my back to it). I somehow lost my footing (more later on my theory that invisible people are pushing me over all the time) and fell backwards OVER the file drawer. But thatí³ not the remarkable part. The extraordinary thing is that when I fell over I somehow managed to completely wedge myself into the TINIEST place. I am not a wee person. I’m quite far from wee, really; nonetheless I still ended up in this very compact little bundle between the file drawer and a part of my desk. It was so PETITE! It was a practically infinitesimal niche. But as much as I dote on teensy things, I must say that it hurt like a mother. I said some words that were in questionable taste, and the surprisingly intense volume I managed to create with the whole incident (remember that I lost my voice – I’m still getting it back) brought everyone in from their offices. They found me squished into the itsy bitsy nook intoning festive sailor-language. “Don’t listen, I bellowed – I’m saying foul things!” They’d already heard them, though, and were my attentive audience as I ever so gracefully extricated myself from the itty-bitty slot.
I try to entertain people on Mondays.

I didn’t fall down today (yet), but I do fall down on an alarmingly regular basis. I have a friend who says I am an “Edge Crasher.” Theoretically, this is a scientific term, but I can’t seem to find any evidence saying as much. One way or the other, it’s a nice way of saying “clumsy” and “gawky.”
When I was little, my family defined it as a “Kathryn” when people fell down (not just me). At some point I had friends who called me “Grace.” Mind you, I am selectively elegant and poised, especially when I’m performing. You can ask my husband. Hmm. That doesn’t sound good. I meant performing as in acting and singing. Then again, I’ve also biffed it in that venue one or two spectacular times. I’ve momentarily lost essential pieces of my costume (I can be thankful that my topless moment was when my back was to the audience), I tripped on a cord once, I tripped on the train of my dress another time – you get the picture.
So last week I fell down our wooden stairs. The week before that I tripped on my way into work and then fell in Kinko’s a few days later. On all of these occasions my hands were full and I could not catch myself. Also, I exclaimed in a rather loud and surprised voice. This didn’t help me go unnoticed, suffice it to say.
If I were a pirate, I’d have to be the dread pirate Achy BlueArse, the most feared pirate in all of…
the emergency room?