i just need to find someone with a bruise fetish
I am really a klutz.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but I probably don’t talk about it all the time. But sometimes it just gets out of control and I’m just this jerky-freak girl who’s knocking everything over.
My hands are constantly scratched from bumping into things. My elbows are always bruised. My thighs? I don’t even know where I get these large bruises. I guess I bump into things so often that I don’t even notice I’m doing it anymore.
So when it gets so bad that even I notice that I’m being a total spaz, I get embarrassed. And when I get embarrassed, I get klutzier. And then all hell breaks loose.
I’m the one who always accidentally flips the end of a fork so it flies off the table and into a stranger’s eye.
I turn corners too quickly and cause people to spill coffee all over me.
I trip on my own shoe walking down a hallway and people see me fall flat on my face.
It’s almost better around strangers, because you can half-cover and act like you were goofing or whatever. Make a joke about needing coffee, and then move on. But when you’re with a friend? There are no excuses.
Saturday night stee and I went to get some drinks. I remember walking in and thinking that it was a bit crowded and I’m never as dressed up at that place as everyone else is.
I guess I was distracted with that, or I was trying to just sit down quickly and order something, as it was odd for me to be in LA for six hours in a row without any alcohol, and my leg bumped the table as I was getting to my chair.
That makes it sound more innocent than it was. The chair scraped back and rocked. The table rocked forward and then lurched back, and the candle on the table blew out. It looked like The Incredible Hulk had just stormed off.
It looked like my thighs were powerful and I was this he-girl trying to sit with a boy.
I think I tried to handle that one. Something about how I’m just the classiest girl he’s ever going to meet, and he’s never going to see grace and elegance like that in another woman. Stee picked up the candle and tried to light it again, but his hand was too large to reach the wick.
Thinking this was my cue to remedy the situation and redeem myself (I may be awkward, but my hands are small), I offered to light the candle. We joked about Jewel’s hands being small and her talent low as I turned the candle to fit my hand inside.
All over my lap.
I was too horrified to even yell from the pain of hot wax in my crotch. It was either begin crying, or just start laughing hysterically. So now poor stee has got this giggly girl looking like a bondage mistake sitting next to him, holding a lighter and a candle, completely unable to speak or sit still without ruining everything.
I went to the bathroom to try and peel the wax off my pants and shirt, and one woman kindly told me that it looked like a boy had taken advantage of me. Another told me to put vegetable oil on it. A third told me the iron trick, which is one I’ll probably try, if I ever get the nerve up to fix the pants.
So, I walked back to the table with white wax and wet spots all down the front of my waist. I quickly sat down so that no one could see. I think stee lifted everything on the table as I sat down to make sure I didn’t ruin his pants as well.
The waiter wiped the table, looked at the wax, smiled and said, “I know what this is!” and then chuckled at us. We don’t know what he meant, either.
I decided not to move until I was absolutely sure that the movement was both necessary and deliberate.
After dinner, when we started pushing our plates away, a bit of lettuce had fallen off my plate and onto the table. I picked it up and tossed it towards my plate.
In the candle.
The candle went out.
There’s a point where you just give up. I think that was it for me. There was no way to save face and act like I was just having a weird moment. I knew I had completely klutzed out and that was just how things were going to be for the rest of the weekend.
Sure enough the next evening, sitting down to a table, I bumped it and burned out another candle.
You can’t take me anywhere. Honestly.