I'm a Moron

Ryder took this picture of me at breakfast. Quite fitting I must say. Except I shouldn't have said breakfast because now Allen is going to be wondering why Ryder was allowed the camera during mealtime.....

Anyone that has ever spent a split second with me has more than likely experienced me thoroughly embarrass myself. I am a world-class klutz. Case-in-point...I have already fallen down the stairs in the house twice this week...and it is only Wednesday. Luckily, no one witnessed these events (as my family is not the most sympathetic group), and granted, the flight I repeatedly fell down is only like 7 stairs...sill, this is no consolation for my aching butt and nearly broken foot. I have determined I am incapable of keeping my eyes focused on the right spot while walking. If I look down at my feet, I walk into a pole or a wall, or something of that nature. This is a guarantee. If I walk with my head up, I stub my toe, or fall down a flight of stairs. I feel good about this though, because I am confident God spends his days laughing at me (along with most of the world), and I feel privileged to offer such entertainment.

Today I had another opportunity to entertain. I went to get the mail. This should be a simple, mindless task. I open the front door, walk onto the porch, reach into the mailbox, grab the mail, and walk back in the house. Note, that the front door is over 45 years old, and gets fairly jammed. It requires a bit of effort to open. So, as I am mightily pulling the door open, I simultaneously nearly knock myself out. Somehow the door hits me squarely in the head. Realizing the size of the great protrusion on my face that we call a nose, this offered quite a bit of pain, and seemingly, my incredible strength created quite a bit of force, which not shockingly, knocked me flat on my butt. I saw many black dots...in fact, I was quite awed that I was still conscious...or perhaps, I was seriously wishing that I was unconscious. Upon gathering myself, rubbing my now throbbing butt and pulsating head, I get up and walk out the newly opened door. I am pretty good at pretending that I did not just do something terrifyingly stupid, as this is how I spend most of my day. But the little snott-nosed kid looking straight at me diagonally across the street, trying not so subtly to stifle his laughs, was not such a good pretender. At least I can say I worked hard for the title of, "The new drunken mom that moved in across the street."

I can only imagine the mortifying experience it must be to be married to me. You are such a studly man. Love you baby!