You envy me

You know you do. While doing the dishes tonight, I slipped on the wet tile floor with a wooden cutting board in my hand. I caught myself before I could so much as wobble an inch, but the dramatic side of me says I nearly died by way of a wooden cutting board that wreaks of onions and cilantro.

After the cutting board incident of '09, I went to switch the laundry to the dryer and accidentally banged my head on the door frame. I wish I could say this was the first time...this week. It's an outside laundry room, and regrettably my neighbors can hear "head-banging" reactions. Not pretty.

While brushing my teeth a little while later, the paste unexplainable fell (jumped, if you ask me) off the brush. I looked all over the sink and floor, but I couldn't find it anywhere. About the time I gave up looking, I began to feel something squishy inside the sleeve of my sweater. Sure enough, a glob of toothpaste was smeared all over my wrist, inside my sleeve. I went to unzip the sweater, and, wouldn't you know it but the zipper was broken. (I've had it for years and it's NEVER had a zipper issue). In my emotional despair over the tile slip, laundry door, toothpaste, and zipper, I walked over to my husband who was lying in bed reading, and with the toothbrush still in my mouth, I silently shook my fists at the sky and tried to mime what had just happened. He put the magazine down, looked at me weirdly, listened to my toothbrush-slurred explanation, and simply asked, "Was I supposed to understand that?"

No. No you weren't. I just needed an audience. And come to think of it, I really should have taken that drama elective in high school.