Ever have those days when, no matter how hard you try (which in itself could be the root of the problem), you either are, or feel, totally out of step with the world? When, regardless of how normally nimble, slinky, or fleet of foot you may be (and none of which I ever am), you become temporarily lummox-like in extremis? Yes, of course you have, so I hope you will sympathize that I just had one of "those" weekends.
On Friday night, when carrying our kitten Reggie from my office, I somehow managed to inexplicably walk into the corner of a wall, bashing my left forearm so hard it made me cry out.
On Saturday, we attended the Filberg Festival in Comox, where within minutes of arrival, simply by turning around after taking a photograph, I managed to trash a jewellery display when stumbling into it. Fortunately, it was a simple set-up of an easel holding the vendor's sign, with a few choice pieces draped about it, but my demolition job still caused a degree of mirth among observers, and a red face for me and my exasperated wife.
A short time after the near destruction of the jeweller's stall, I'd just glugged down a much-needed cold lime drink when the plastic 32-ounce cup that had held it, and its lid, conspired against me, the cup plummeting to the table, sending a ton of ice cubes scattering all over the place. Cue second flushed face of the day, especially having involuntarily shouted, "Oh, bollocks!"
Somehow we got home without further mishap, but later that night I scared myself half to death when thinking there was a large, shiny, black beetle crawling across the living room floor from somewhere near my feet. But, no, it was not a beetle. It was in fact the top of the wiggly-worm-on-a-stick cat toy that I was holding and waving about to amuse Reggie. It appears from this episode that I may have a problem with my nerves, but then after the catalogue of idiocy that preceded it, that should come as no surprise.
Then, last night, after a remarkably incident-free day, how I managed to shut my head in the coat cupboard door is anybody's guess. But shut my head in the coat cupboard door, doing my very best to crush my right eye socket, is exactly what I did. A bruise rose up immediately, competing with my loud resigned sighs for attention.
Really, I should have stayed in bed from Friday to Sunday. But I guess had I done so I'd have probably fallen out and crashed right through the floor into the bedroom of our neighbours below, or something equally ludicrous.