The hazards of being me

I am a mess. And I always have been. I’m clumsy and I don’t mean to be but it’s just a fact that I am. So with the tripping and stumbling and getting my purse strap caught on stairposts, or shutting my skirt in the car door, it’s inevitable that things that I’m carrying, say liquid things, spill on me. And people think I wear black because I think blondes look better in black. In fact, black hides the spilt coffee very, very well. If I’m wearing other colors, say khaki in the summer, or heaven forbid a white top, before getting to the office, I’m managed to spill something on them. My dry cleaning bill is exorbitant. So too is the amount of time that I spend painting over the spots and smudges on my interior walls. Painting over smudges and scrapes and all sorts of signs that something, I guess me, has rubbed against, discoloring the Summertime color of my walls. Summertime? Is new townhouse term for off-white or light beige, but not a color that has anything at all to do with summer colors. It’s a matt finish that shows absolutely every smudge as if illuminated by spotlights. And I realized this morning that the walls were again filthy with smudges. I do not understand how one individual can smudge the walls as much or as often as I do. One hour it took me to cover the spots. I was blessed with many skills, spot painting one of them. But I was reminded again today, not one iota of balance.