To my friends, I might be able to use this excuse. To family, it will come across as a bold lie. You see, I inherited my mother's clumsy gene and I can't hide it from them.
I can remember my 11th birthday - we were visiting my grandparents in Illinois at the time. We had gone to a little bakery in town to buy a birthday cake. Since it was my birthday, I was wearing a new pair of sandals - blue jean covered with a big strawberry on top and a little heel below. Insisting that I carry my own birthday cake, I clomped out of bakery, proudly holding my prize with two hands. Immediately after the door closed, I tripped stepping off the curb and hit the pavement. My cake, packaged in a tin container with a plastic top, decided not to stop there but shot off at lightning speed across the parking lot. As I lay there on the ground, knees scraped and bleeding, my mother, brother, and aunt all took off after the cake!
We still laugh about the speed of that cake. That was just one of many of my clumsy episodes. As I've aged, I think I've gotten that out-of-control gene reined in a bit. At least I hope so or I will one day be that woman lying on the floor screaming..."Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!"
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