I don’t think anyone would believe me if I told them I used to be a graceful ballerina dancer.  Stop laughing!  I did!  I promise.  I took ballet and other forms of dance for years.  Ok, so maybe I was just in the chorus, but I did take years of dance.

That is why is it hard for me to admit to the fact that I am such a klutz.  Running into walls and tripping over my own feet is called Tuesday (or whatever day it happens to be).

Did I tell you about the time I “broke” my arm?  I use quotes because it was never really broken, but it might as well been.  It is funny now because it happened at work and I totally broke the office camera, but at the time I was really upset.  It was less than a month before B and I got married so I was terrified I was going to have a cast on in our wedding pictures.

Then there was the time I fell down the stairs.  And the time that I tripped while carrying a glass of water causing the water to spill from the second floor down to people on the first floor.  Yeah, those were both at work too.

Oh yeah, and there was that time during rush (sorority recruitment) when I fell down a couple stairs spilling my glass of red punch everywhere.  I was a freshmen, well not even a freshman because school hadn’t started yet.  No wonder that sorority house didn’t invite me back.  I wonder if there is still a stain on their stairs?  I think I should get a plaque or something.  “Here lies the red punch Megan Sagowitz spilled on our carpet.”

I am just glad that B no longer panics when I injure myself.  Like last night when I slammed the washer lid on my finger.  Instead of calling 911 immediately, B calmly strolled into the laundry room and waited for my expletives to stop so he could ask me what happened. 

I am glad B has finally come to terms with the fact that he married a klutz.  As long as the after-injury royal treatment doesn’t stop, I will be happy.