Slapstick

My life is a slapstick routine. Today I ate a napkin.  By accident obviously, but nonetheless I ingested it.  Then I managed to sustain a dusting injury.  How you ask.  Well who knows?

Once I ate ants.  And I’m allergic.  It was like pepper on my tongue.  I had to watch it for an hour to see if I was going to choke.  I didn’t, it merely swelled enough to impede my ability to speak.

I fell on the cat once.  Well probably more than once, but at this particular time it was after standing in front of the fridge trying to conjure up something to eat when I started to pass out and plonked gracelessly onto the cat.  Like a furry pillow, a not very impressed angry mewling one… but he broke my fall.

Then there’s the time I head butted a door frame.  And there was no prior bull in a china shop impersonation requests.  It just seemed appealing.

Or the time Ma was helping me change sheets and I fell face first on the couch over the armrest, so my feet were up in the air.  She thought I was just having a rest.  Never could understand how that would appear so, odd way to have a rest.

And recently when I had my hands bandaged, the clip caught on something in the fridge disabling me so I was stuck while the fridge door shut on my head.

Oh, and the time I tripped over the cat, into the fridge and when I grabbed the freezer door handle to steady myself it broke in my hand.

And I drop things…. all of the time.  And spill things.  And I miss my mouth.  Oh and I have scratched my face several times when simply trying to move a blanket or get my hair out of my eyes.

Cats and fridges, they’re a problem…and apparently eating, that too.  Perhaps I should refrain from moving at all.

Or I'll just continue practising my slapstick routine until it's perfect.  Then when I'm well I can take it on the road.  Tour dates coming later.  Much later.