Friday, July 1, 2011


As a child, I took dance lessons...not really because I wanted to dance, but rather because my sister did and I wanted to do anything that my sister did.  It also gave my Mom a weekly 45 minute break from my incessant chatter, which let's face it, she probably earned. While Priscilla was a beautiful dancer-- long, lean and graceful, I was more like a chubby, clumsy and significantly less attractive 70's version of Shirley Temple.  Where Priscilla was a breezy, branchy Azalea in the "Alice in Wonderland" production... I was a lowly ground-covering Bluebonnet.  Where her fingers were always delicately splayed in dance photos like beautiful vines swaying in a gentle breeze, mine were little chunks of wood frozen in space in what looked like a defiant gesture.  Stickin' it to the man, even then.

My first dance recital.  Yes, I was a duck.

I eventually outgrew (well, out-dieted) the chubbiness...but the clumsiness remains. Just ask The Boy, who once described my relative grace thusly: "You're like a gazelle with an inner ear disorder."

I'm also kind of retarded.

I had him snowed for maybe the first week. On our first 3 dates I managed not to spill, trip or harm myself noticeably, despite a near-miss when a barstool took a left while I was taking a right while inexplicably sitting still. And then, enter Andrien (this is what The Boy calls me when I've taken my Ambien but continue to carry on as if I'm not an anesthetized bull in a china shop). In the first week of our relationship, Andrien announced herself in a phone conversation during which she performed a rousing and undoubtedly endearing fifteen minute tribute to the childhood musical classic "Charlotte's Web." Interested parties should contact Derek for a replay as he graciously recorded the performance without my knowledge or consent. Incidentally, I think that's a little illegal and I'll eventually own his ass because of it.

Musical genius and exquisite comedic timing aside, the unintentional physical humor is likely the funniest-- and is often displayed as an Exxon Valdez-like red wine spill.  Take last night, for instance.  The Boy lives on 5 acres in the heart of the Pike National Forest, and his deck and front porch offer an amazing view of Long Scraggy Peak and about 7 layers of mountains beyond.  We were privvy to front row seats during a spectacular summer storm at around 7:30 and decided to watch the light show from his hot tub. 

Because I'm me, this meant pouring roughly half a bottle of red wine into a large plastic tumbler (my tendency to break glasses led to a Target trip a few weeks ago to purchase unbreakable shit).  Look, I was naked and didn't want to climb in and out of the hot tub several times to refill my glass... I can only suck in my stomach so much and there's nothing I can do about my thighs and The Boy still finds my curves dreamy.  No one needs to see the broad side of anyone's ass as they exit the hot tub this early on in a relationship.  Just trust me on this.

So, we're all snuggled into the hot tub, watching lightning split the purple sky and ooo-ing and aaaah-ing in all the right places...and just when it seems like maybe we should kiss or something... I spill my entire tumbler and roughly $10 worth of wine directly into the hot tub.  My mind immediately flashes back to a scene roughly 10 minutes earlier in the evening where I watched Derek cleaning out the hot tub filters and discussing the delicate chlorine balance he has achieved.  So now I'm sitting, naked and chagrined, in an aubergine hot tub wondering if antioxidants can be absorbed through the skin as D streaks into the house (where I hear him slip and crash on the tile floor) to get a bucket in a desperate bid to prevent damage to the ecosystem that is the hot tub.  And he's screaming "Don't move!  Stay where you are!" as if I might cause harm to an otter or heron unlucky enough to chance upon the spill.

He comes running back out with a giant orange Home Depot bucket to find me absolutely belly-laughing because I can't stop thinking of how funny it must have looked when he slipped in the kitchen.  Yep, I'm a clumsy retard-- and apparently not a very nice one.  But seriously, I bet that was hysterical.  I am literally chortling about it as I write this.  Yes, chortling.

To make a long story short (too late, I know), we decided to exit the hot tub.  If not for the risk of some kind of bizarre yeast infection, for the risk of dying a horrible death-- watching an electrical storm while seated in a tub of water is likely not a great idea, especially for those of us with a tendency towards mayhem.  We watched the rest of the storm from the relative safety of The Boy's front porch.  I bet we were the only people in the Pike National Forest who enjoyed the storm doused in wine and listening to the B-52s.

So now it's the Friday afternoon of a long holiday weekend, and I'm comfortably ensconced on D's wine-stained couch (it was Jackson's fault, I promise-- that is one clumsy dog) while he scrubs the hot tub a scant fifty feet from the driveway where I ate gravel in a spectacular spill while in a cocktail dress and 4 inch stilettos.  Later, we'll take the boys on a hike and I'll suspiciously eye the granite boulder I've christened "Hamburger Rock" because of my propensity to scrape my flesh on it the moment The Boy's back is turned while I'm trying to prove I'm a capable "outdoorswoman."  Is that even a word?  It shouldn't be.

Shin Injury sustained while tripping over own feet on driveway

Later, if the mood and the vodka take me, maybe I'll entertain D with some of my dance moves.  Hmmm... maybe not.  It's at least 30 minutes to the nearest E.R.

The Boy, the Bucket...and the scene of the spill.


  1. CONGRATULATIONS, andrea, CONGRATULATIONS!!! i have now just wet my office chair for the first time in a decade or so from laughing hysterically. it's very monday morning to have wet pants, but i needed to laugh like that. thank you, and i can't wait to see the movie!

  2. UPDATE: Tonight, while trying to get me to listen to some awful song from the '80s, she spilled ANOTHER glass of red wine on my coffee table and carpet.

  3. You're not the only one chortling. This post may go down in history as garnering the most belly laughs. Also, maybe its time to switch to white? Or vodka, club soda–that has built in stain remover!

  4. i think you may bae even worse than me, but tell him at least life wont be dullor boring with you around, that is what i tell my husband-i dont know if he agrees or not, but he loves me anyway!!You gotta love that!!