I've always longed to be a dancer. And/or an ice skater. I love when a dance or routine is perfectly choreographed to the music and the partners are in sync with each other. It's a beautiful thing to watch.
Instead, I can't dance a lick. And I shudder to think what would happen if I attempted ice skating. I really don't have time to sit around and wait for broken bones to heal. I blame genetics for my basic ineptitude. Nobody in my family (that I'm aware of) can dance, skate or do anything that requires physical agility. When klutz was doled out, we all went through the line twice. Probably thought it was the dessert line.
Waiting for David at Threadgill's the other day, I sat at the bar and sipped a diet Coke. When he arrived, I got off the stool without incident (no easy feat in itself), but when I reached back for my Coke, I knocked it over spilling ice and coke from one end of the bar to the other. They were really nice about it. Nobody even rolled their eyes.
Yesterday I was taking the dogs for a stroll around the yard when Xana asserted herself and headed off for her accustomed afternoon walk. She has not appreciated having her activities reeled in because Mom is busy watching the baby. So I scooped Coco up and headed off after Xana. Or intended to. What I really did was get my flip flop tangled up and I hit the ground. Thankfully I fell backward, with Coco tucked safely against my chest. Xana did roll her eyes. Coco was all bouncy and ready to take that ride again. The neighbors watching from down the street must have decided I was ok and acted like they hadn't seen anything. I took the cat approach of acting like I had meant to do that all along. I limped after Xana, blowing on the first skint elbow I've had in quite some time.
I can't dance, skate, swim, bat, throw, dribble, or bowl. I am really good at holding dogs. I think I'll just decide to concentrate on where my real talents lie.