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I’m the kind of clumsy that at first you may find endearing. You might think to yourself, “Oh, how cute. She trips a lot.” The first few times you notice, you’ll laugh and find me sort of amusing. Then, you’ll start to realize I am a disaster – a person who falls for no reason, bumps into things that are very obviously in her way, and is a catastrophe waiting to happen. Then, you’ll start to wonder what is wrong with me. I like to think I’m so clumsy because I constantly have a story going in my head or a song in my heart. Others might say, its ADD. Whatever it is, it doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. To give you an idea, here is a concise history of my major clumsy altercations:

Third grade: I tripped over a doormat and broke my right arm.
Fifth grade: I tripped over my friend’s leg during the first lap of the mile, resulting in a broken left arm for me and torn leg ligaments for her.
Eighth grade: I stepped on a rake, it smacked me in the face, and gave me a fat lip.
Ninth grade: During an all school awards assembly, my name was called and I proceeded down the row in which I was seated. Before I got to the stairs, my foot caught on my friend’s bag. As I glided down the steps, I did not realize I was falling. When I got to the bottom and headed towards the podium (and the upperclassman holding my award), I realized I was in the midst of one big trip. Unable to regain my balance (possibly because of the black wedges I was wearing), I landed on my hands and knees in front of the stunned upperclassman. He stuck my award in front of my face (I’m sure he was more bewildered than I), I took it, stood up, turned around and faced my audience. I smiled, nodded and applause broke out.
Tenth grade: Walking down the steps of an overpass in Istanbul, I slipped, fell and bounced down the stairs, injuring my back (an injury I still have to this day).
Tenth grade summer: I flipped backwards out of a kayak and got my leg lodged under the seat, resulting in the largest bruise I’ve ever had.
Eleventh Grade: 
I fell running down the stairs in a bowling alley, tripped and broke my right food.
Twelfth Grade: When walking to the bus, I tripped, fell and got trapped under my backpack.
Freshman Year of College: I fell when standing still on an icy puddle.
Senior Year of College: I broke my left foot (twice).
2008: I broke my right foot hiking down Diamond Head.
2009: I broke my right wrist playing dodge ball.
2011: While skiing, I was hit in the back by a snowboarder, landed on my knee and permanently damaged it.

You might be saying, “Awww,” at this point and feeling a little like you should cry instead of laugh. You’re not alone – my husband has grown more and more concerned that one day someone will mistake the bruises covering my body for spousal abuse. Just today, I rammed my head into the side of a cabinet, tripped getting out of bed and bumped into a man at the grocery store – and those are just the incidents I can recall. But…the whole time, I was lost in thought and writing stories in my head. So, if that’s the trade off, I guess I’ll take it.

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