I'm having an okay week. Thus far...

This afternoon I stood in the centre of the canteen and enacted an amusing anecdote to my coworkers, using all my bodily grace and expressive talents. Actually I was imitating a guy with a funny walk I had seen that morning. It was HILARIOUS. MOVING. Then I noticed Carmel was staring at my chest. No biggie. Happens, let me tell you, all the time.
'Carmel, why are you staring at my chest?' She feigned ignorance. 'Is it the black stuff on my top? Yeah, I dunno where that came from. Hilarious how filthy I look really, isn't it?'

'Actually I was wondering how you got coffee all over yourself so fast,' she said, 'I mean, you've only just made a cup of coffee and you've got, what, four coffee smears on your clothes. Like, what?'

It's difficult to understand, if you know me only through my graceful prose, but I am an extremely clumsy person. Some might call me 'awkward'. I hope you can find it in your heart to think it merely adorable. I can pick up a box of perfectly clean, new books, direct from the suppliers, and by the time I put it down again I will have black smut all over me and my cardigan is missing two buttons. Also, my shoe has fallen into the box. And there's a feather in my hair. How? WHO KNOWS.

I am a slapstick's dream. I have, on more than one occassion, walked into signposts and streetlights. I have closed car doors on my foot, fingers and head. I can, and have, pick up a tray or a plate of something and there it is two seconds later, upside down on the ground. There is not a smooth, unfissured path in existence that I cannot fall down on. Don't even think about putting me in high heels. I could kill somebody! If I am dining out somewhere and I am eating something dry, like crackers, and my dining partner is eating something not dry, say tomato soup, it is entirely IMPOSSIBLE that I will get up from the table without tomato smears all over my clothing. It just won't happen.

Once, I helped a friend who ran an art gallery to clean up after an opening and I broke six wine glasses. SIX. From a box of 30. That, quite frankly, is amazing. Governments should employ me to work for their enemies. I could lean over enemy war crafts or WMDs, or whatever it is the bad guys are working on nowadays, mumbling 'Woah, what does that yoke do...' and WHAM. My watch has fallen deep into the workings and the baddies are running around shrieking. Yeah! Take that, justice!