The Daggers of My Life

When I was young, I believed I was a graceful person. I took ballet or other dance lessons for nearly 8 years. Other people might be considered "clumsy" or "klutzy," but not me. No, I had complete control over my bodily movements.

At least, that's what I thought ... until I met Danny. And I started to notice how I would trip over my own feet, run into (inherently stationary) walls, drop my keys for no reason, find inexplicable bruises on my arms and legs, etc.

What was the connection between my new-found clumsiness and meeting Danny? I don't know.

Maybe being around Danny made me nervous, and the nervousness caused the clumsiness. However, this hypothesis does not explain the continued clumsiness I still experience.

Maybe Danny put some sort of wizard spell on me to turn me into a klutz. I like this idea because it indicates that I have had no control, fault, or responsibility over my defect. However, it also lacks motive -- why would Danny want a clumsy wife?

Perhaps a more likely theory: Maybe I was always clumsy, but because Danny and I spent a lot of time together, I suddenly had an audience for my trips and bumps, whereas before we were together, they may have gone unnoticed.

Whatever the reason, daily life has become a dangerous endeavor:

• I broke my cell phone in its hip-holster two days after I bought it when I apparently underestimated the girth of my hips and ran into a bannister while walking down some stairs.
  

• I nearly hit my head against our kitchen counter when I tripped because my left big toe got caught in my right pant-leg.
  

• I thought I had broken my toe when I misjudged the height of our tub and smacked my toe against the side of it.
  

• I have received multiple bruises on my arms and legs from all of the following: running into our kitchen table, running into our bedroom doorknob, running into our dresser, running into our bathroom counter, running into our electric piano stand, and hitting my arm against the toilet paper dispenser (it's a small bathroom).
  

• I have hit my head on all of the following items: our entertainment center cabinet doors, the dashboard, the car ceiling, the pull-down lat bar at the gym, and wall behind our bed.
  
  

Speaking of our bed, that reminds me of something else in my life that is dangerous: SLEEPING.

Yes, dear reader, sleeping is dangerous for me.
Why, you ask ...
Do you sleepwalk?
No.
Do you have night terrors?
No.
Do you have sleep apnea?

No.

I'll tell you why: toenails. Specifically, Danny's toenails. Did you know that men's toenails (and fingernails) grow more quickly than women's? It's true. And poor Danny has a hard time keeping his nails in check because of the rapidity of their growth.

I can't tell you how many times I have been "daggered" by his toenails. And I won't tell you how many times I snapped at poor Danny for having such sharp weapons in bed with us. We have an arrangement now where either one of us wears socks to bed. Now I can sleep a little easier.

***

Just one more note on fingernails -- when did it become acceptable to clip one's nails in public?

I had a guidance counselor in high school who clipped his nails with scissors during my SEOP (Student Education Occupational Plan) meeting with him.

One of my former co-workers in Maryland clipped his nails at work.

One (or more) of my current co-workers clipped his/her nails at work.

Is it just me, or is that disgusting?

***

p.s. I am working on making a video of Danny's law school journey and hope to post it soon.