Twinkle Toes Strikes Again
By Belinda
Dad called me Twinkle Toes because I was clumsy as a child and my toes did not twinkle. Calamity Jane was applied occasionally--for variety.
Sometimes I am sure that I've left that part of my identity behind. I try; but then, when I least expect it Twinkle Toes pops out.
The most recent episode was at our writers group work night. We always pack the bags of giveaways for an annual conference in June. Writers send in bookmarks advertising their books, chapter books, pens, notepads--and some lucky years, even chocolate.
We were almost finished for the evening and I was sitting down relaxing for a moment. One item we had packed was a torpedo-like, bright yellow pen that had a yellow highlighter at one end. There were a bunch left over and because they were so cool, I handed one of them to each to each of our hardworking helpers. I still had mine in my hand when Melody asked her fateful question.
"Is that out there in the garden a butterfly bush?"
I know butterfly bushes as they are prolific in England. I even know the Latin name: buddleia.
Excited by my ability to offer an expert opinion, I rose from my seat and set out to see the bush she was asking about. I replay the moment now, in slow motion. The music from Chariots of Fire is playing in the background softly...
I floated across the living room, past boxes of packed bags, towards the kitchen and the sliding door to the backyard. I opened the door and stepped forward--and...
That was when I bounced back, my momentum halted by a screen covering that wasn't open. I felt foolish enough at that, but I simultaneously felt something in my hand pierce the mesh screen like a dart. To my horror I realized that I was still holding the yellow torpedo pen in my hand, aiming forward. Twinkle Toes had struck again.
I confessed to our hosts right away, mortified. They were gracious and told me not to worry. Apparently you can buy magnetic angels to cover holes in screens.
And I'm trying hard to stuff Twinkle Toes back in the box.
Dad called me Twinkle Toes because I was clumsy as a child and my toes did not twinkle. Calamity Jane was applied occasionally--for variety.
Sometimes I am sure that I've left that part of my identity behind. I try; but then, when I least expect it Twinkle Toes pops out.
The most recent episode was at our writers group work night. We always pack the bags of giveaways for an annual conference in June. Writers send in bookmarks advertising their books, chapter books, pens, notepads--and some lucky years, even chocolate.
We were almost finished for the evening and I was sitting down relaxing for a moment. One item we had packed was a torpedo-like, bright yellow pen that had a yellow highlighter at one end. There were a bunch left over and because they were so cool, I handed one of them to each to each of our hardworking helpers. I still had mine in my hand when Melody asked her fateful question.
"Is that out there in the garden a butterfly bush?"
I know butterfly bushes as they are prolific in England. I even know the Latin name: buddleia.
Excited by my ability to offer an expert opinion, I rose from my seat and set out to see the bush she was asking about. I replay the moment now, in slow motion. The music from Chariots of Fire is playing in the background softly...
I floated across the living room, past boxes of packed bags, towards the kitchen and the sliding door to the backyard. I opened the door and stepped forward--and...
That was when I bounced back, my momentum halted by a screen covering that wasn't open. I felt foolish enough at that, but I simultaneously felt something in my hand pierce the mesh screen like a dart. To my horror I realized that I was still holding the yellow torpedo pen in my hand, aiming forward. Twinkle Toes had struck again.
I confessed to our hosts right away, mortified. They were gracious and told me not to worry. Apparently you can buy magnetic angels to cover holes in screens.
And I'm trying hard to stuff Twinkle Toes back in the box.
Comments
Not because it's a bad post, but because I hate thinking about you thinking that you're "clumsy". You're not. Well, if you are, then you have some really good company... Have you ever, for instance, come crashing down, landing full force on your, um, okay, I admit it, on your boobs because you had run back into the church AFTER you had set the burglar alarm and only had 45 seconds to grab your coat before the alarm began to scream and the police were summoned? Did you ever fall off your bike in front of your grandchildren and your son-in-law, sliding down the gravel laneway and coming to a stop only to find you had a hairline fracture in your wrist? (Not to mention various and sundry other scrapes and bruises. Did you step on the hem of your wedding dress as you mounted the steps at the front of the church while everyone in the world (including the man of your dreams and his whole family!) were watching you stumble and nearly fall? Did you ever walk out the back door of the church at night and terrify your grandson by forgetting the low wall that was there and falling over it in the dark to land hard on the cold paving stones scraping your knee, your chin, and both hands (not to mention the bruises) and injuring yourself internally?
Or how about Ron? Picture him. Out in centre field (I know, he's usually out in left field, but this time, he was playing centre) the sun shining, the crack of a bat making contact with the ball... It soars through the air toward him. It's a long fly but an easy catch. His supporters go wild in the stands as he steps into form. They know it's an easy out. His knees flex. He raises his glove to snag the ball and suddenly he can't see it anymore. That's when it makes contact with his forehead, breaking his glasses and opening a cut across his eyebrow which requires ten stitches to close. Didn't he feel dumb in front of all those spectators... especially as they all came running up to him to try to help as he stood there bent over catching cupful after cupful in his cupped hands as the blood spurted out of his head...
Man, if I could go back in time and put duct tape on your dad's mouth, I would. I just might go over there and do Robert's right now! :) (On the other hand, he's a brother, and I think brothers are supposed to be annoying. Mine is!)
Twinkle toes, my eye. Hrumph! Join the club!
Any one of your stories would make a great tale of Twinkle Toes. Poor Ron, too! Oh, my.
I'm so glad to know that I'm not alone. Perhaps we should form a club.
On the other hand, I'm trying to avoid Twinkle Toes.
That should make you feel better! :)
It is so good to have a hearty laugh in the morning. I can so picture that. We have similar body builds and I know exactly what you mean.
Yesterday walking our new puppy by myself I went down our steep hill - slipped on the gravel and almost fell. I know my husband would never do that. Or trip over my feet... do it.
Thanks for the visual.
love
J
A friend emailed me with laughter and confessed to being a closet klutz and her daughter, too. She suggested starting a support group. Let's see, there would be you, me, Ron, my friend and her daughter. What do you say? Twinkle Toes Anonymous?
P.S. I visited your prayer blog. I couldn't leave a comment there but wanted to say that it is beautiful and a worthy focus. I loved the pink flamingo banner. Very pretty. And long legged and graceful. Hmmmm.