Drive Thru? Hold my Milkshake

It has long been established that I am a klutz. My husband called me K-bomb when we were dating because I was like a little explosion everywhere we went. The first time I visited his dorm room, I pulled the towel rack off the wall. The second, I kicked the screen out of his 6th floor window. Always making that “grand impression”. Our son fell down the stairs the other day and as we all rushed to him, it was me that questioned the specifics of the angles and trajectory. “She specializes in this” his daddy reassures him. It’s true, we once had hardwood stairs, I couldn’t make it down them safely for more than 25 days in a row. I’m shocked I still have a tailbone.

I’m still a klutz, though not as grandiose. Last nightI dropped my tea mug simply because my hands couldn’t hold it any longer. A friend reminded me today that I’m actually two years older than I had thought… did I say friend? More like arch enemy – correcting my poor math.

I confess, it was me in the drive thru the other day. Yes, I was the one holding up the lunch time assembly line. But I have good reason. I couldn’t reach. You know how you don’t pull up close enough, so you stretch, then you unbuckle and stretch again. Then you put it in park and stretch even further. Not to mention the utterly unhelpfulness of the dude at the window who only thought to move the swiped machine closer AFTER I dropped my card out the window and onto the ground. Yep, splat right onto the asphalt. No one to help ya now. So, I have to pull my car up beyond the take out window. Put it in park. Then get out of my vehicle walk back to the window, pick up my card and then I noticed the enormous line of people behind me. So in my typical fashion, I wave at everyone because, what else are you going to do? I pay for my tab and they begin to hand me my food. Now, I never travel in small numbers so of course there is a gaggle of people in my car. So I don’t just have one but to drink carriers, plus any Normas bag of food. I somehow managed to balance everything give a courtesy to the people behind me and hustled to the car.

Now in typical K bomb fashion, I could’ve tripped and spilled drinks everywhere, or I could’ve walked into the side of the vehicle because I was so self-conscious about the rows of cars behind me. Or I could’ve left my card in the reader. Unfortunately I did not. Thankfully my daughter in the front seat manages to extend herself across the car to push open the door for me so I can then hand in all the food. I was never ever a good waitress. And this lack of balancing of food proves that I am still not cut out for such a task. I am just grateful that the people behind me smiled and waved rather than gunning their engines and driving me over. Which in this day and age, it’s not necessarily an unrealistic possibility.

My point? I could lament and worry about how all of this makes me look like a fool. Or beat myself up for not meeting some unforeseen expectations, but why bother? Our lives are what we make it. What we choose it to be. So I choose to find the joy in my klutzy-ness, the laughter in my shenanigans and keep my sanity by not counting the years.

Oh, btw did I tell you about the time my youngest crawled under the car?

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