My guardian angels are probably sick of me.
I was a particularly loud, disobedient, and accident-prone child. Every time we drove past a church, my mother would contemplate leaving me on the front stoop. (By high school, she'd finally given up on this idea, as I could find my own way home.) Mom spent my first decade bouncing from one ER to the other, holding me down while I got stitches, and explaining that any Superman impression performed on a three-dollar skateboard would most likely end in tears, a fat lip, and a shattered garden gnome.
Adulthood hasn't improved matters. While I can somewhat modulate my voice, and I've grown a fairly reliable conscience, I'm still not too cognizant of safety matters. My nickname at the office is "Workman's Comp," taken from the (many) times I have stood on rolly chairs to reach the top shelf.
Home is just so much worse. I routinely stand on rickety stools, because I'm too lazy to buy a stepladder. I'm a self-taught cook, meaning that I chop vegetables in a manner reminiscent of Edward Scissorhands doing an impression of the Swedish Chef. I also cook on my gas stove while wearing long scarves, because, really, one must don their dangliest accessories when leaning over open flames.
But Monday was my finest moment. Not only did I do something so boneheaded I impressed even myself, I managed to find the only true flaw with being single and living alone:
When you live alone, and you're elbow-deep in avocado ectoplasmic goo, squishing, mashing, and making a fine mess while preparing guacamole...what do you do when the phone rings?
If you're a sensible person, you let voicemail pick it up. If you're a little more tightly wound, you grab some paper towels, and use them to pick up the phone. Or, if you're a little more peculiar, you're so busy playing with the avocado ectoplasm and rattling off Ghostbusters quotes to yourself that you barely even hear the phone.
However, if you're me, or someone nearly as special, this is what you do:
1. Attempt to answer vibrating, skittish cellphone with elbows.
2. Realize phone, elbows, and sleeves are now covered in avocado goo.
3. Watch phone squirt out of ninja elbow grip, slide across the counter and plummet into the sink.
4. Press phone between the elbows and lift.
5. Attempt to slide open phone, again with elbows.
6. Realize the futility of the situation.
7. To hell with futility. Futility is for wimps, losers, and German philosophers! Retrieve Wusthof chef's knife from counter.
8. Using chin, elbows, and a big scary knife (which wobbled quite close to both the chin and elbows), wedge open phone just before voicemail picks up.
9. Carry on conversation as normal.
In the comments, refuse to ever come over to my place for dinner, ever ever again. Or remind me what percentage of accidents occur in the home.