I am abnormally clumsy but last night I reached a whole new level.
I was a disaster waiting to happen.
I made taco salad for dinner. While I was waiting on the meat to simmer, I decided to clean out my fridge. I emptied all of the containers into the trash and about half way through I got up to check my meat. Somehow, in the minute it took me to stir the meat I had forgotten that the trashcan was on the other side of the opened fridge door. I pushed the door shut and the trash fell over and all of its contents emptied onto the floor. I had to scoop up the broccoli and cheese soup, fruit, pesto chicken, and last weeks trash back into the trashcan and mop the floor. Yuck.
After I cleaned up the horrifically gross mess, I continued with my dinner (which by the way was cold and not as appealing). As I am piling my salad with toppings, I cut my finger on the black olive can. I should have known not to reach into the can, or to take off the sharp lid, but I was in a hurry because 9:00 was approaching fast and I had already been delayed. Now I know that a little pinky finger cut sounds like a minor inconvenience. However, my poor little pinky was bleeding uncontrollably! I spent fifteen minutes trying to get it to stop! I went through three band aids people!
So I am finally able to sit down to dinner and eat the salad that took me an hour and a half to prepare and the phone rings. It is my mother. I absolutely love talking to her. Actually my sanity depends on it. I have only talked to my mom probably once since last Thursday so I jump up to get it. I am on the phone with her for literally less than five minutes when I reach to pick up my Coke Zero. I am holding the phone with my left hand and I reach for the coke with my right hand (the one with the severe pinky injury) and because of my weak pinky I try to grab it with my thumb, pointer, and middle finger. Of course I drop the can and it explodes all over my freshly mopped kitchen. AHHHH! I think I said a couple of really bad cuss words (or maybe just one repeated several times). It was not a pretty sight. Mom, I’m sorry you had to witness my momentary nervous breakdown.
I’m trying to remain positive: at least my apartment (kitchen) is clean; I think I used about five swiffer mop pads!