Remember the old fortune-telling nursery rhyme based on the day of the week on which one was born?
Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
and the child that is born on the Sabbath day,
is bonnie and blithe and good and gay.
I was born on a Tuesday. True to the tale, I have many graceful characteristics. Despite quitting each of these things, I was quite successful at ballet, gymnastics and synchronized swimming, all of which require a certain amount of grace. Oddly, my gracefulness is “balanced” with being exceptionally accident-prone.
There are numerous photos of bruises on me that have to be seen to be believed. I am constantly running into things in my own home. Things that don’t generally move, like tables, beds and doorways. I joke about not being allowed to use sharp knives, but I’m the only person I know with a scar on the palm of my hand from cutting an avocado. While I’m not willing to call myself clumsy, per se, I am absolutely accident-prone.
I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s hereditary (cough, cough, Dad). Although, I shouldn’t let my mother off the hook, entirely. The last time I visited them, by the end of my visit they were wearing matching boots. One broken foot, one broken toe. Now, obviously this isn’t new information, and I try to live my life in a manner to best avoid accidents.
My driving has been described as similar to that of a grandma. When Tall Guy suggested that, instead of donating/selling it, we shatter the glass on a 100 gallon aquarium, I was vehemently opposed to the idea and refused to stand nearby, let alone assist. (Stupidly, I did attempt to help clean up the shattered glass and nearly lost a finger). Also, I have long held an aversion to power tools.
Power tools are amazing. My mind boggles at the things these little machines can do. However, my mind also is aware that the good for which they are used could also cause evil damage. Namely to me. I avoid them at all costs, particularly those with sharp edges. I don’t even like staple guns. But, like anything else, occasionally you forget your good sense. Over the weekend we tackled our back patio. It requires an annual power-spray. We borrowed the power-sprayer of a friend in order to use a special surface cleaning attachment. It looks like this:
Underneath that round housing is a pivoting bar. Both ends of the bar spray out water, but the stream is contained under the housing. The bar has to spin extremely quickly in order to avoid leaving circular lines on the surface. I consider a power sprayer to be a power tool (hello, “power” sprayer?), and had, until this weekend, kept myself as far away from them as possible. However, since the attachment contains the impact of the water within itself, I was lulled into a false sense of security. Tall Guy and I cleaned the first quadrant of the patio together late Saturday afternoon. Sunday he was living it up at the PGA Valspar Championship in Innisbrook. I decided to tackle the second quadrant on my own.
After a successful start, the dang thing ran out of gas. (Yes, for the record, I try to also avoid items that are powered by gasoline – I must have been out of my head this weekend) Turned off the sprayer, filled with gas, restarted. However, when I started using the attachment, the bar wasn’t spinning fast enough. It was leaving loopy circles on the ground and just would NOT speed up.
Thinking that Adam had the same problem on Saturday, I sent him a text to find out how he’d fixed it. His response:
(Come on, I call him Tall Guy. Obviously his arms are long. His wingspan is nearly 7 feet. Mine is not.)
And so I did what he suggested. Stretching, I was just barely able to spin the bar while pulling the trigger. While I was able to avoid the water lasers when reaching in, as soon as I set the bar spinning, at least one of the water lasers would catch my hand/wrist. After several painful attempts and finally cutting open my hand, it occurred to me that I should STOP attempting this. But I was too stubborn to just walk away. Since I was wearing tennis shoes, and my legs are longer than my arms, I decided I would attempt to use my foot to set the bar spinning. So, standing on my right leg, while trying to kick the bar with my left leg… but occasionally having to use my left foot to readjust the housing, my next text to Tall Guy was:
Yep. Clear off the back of my left ankle. And so, once again, I’m instituting my “no power tools” rule.
On the upside, I did get to use my bacon band-aids!
Be safe out there, kids.