Posts tagged breaking things

A Deja Vu Day


Another broken glassAnother one of Paul’s broken glasses

Yesterday was a day of recurrences.

Nathan didn’t nap well, which has been an ongoing problem for the past month or so.

He was very, very grumpy. 

He also got up twice that night and didn’t want to go back to bed.

And, get this… I broke ANOTHER glass.. And not just any glass… it was another one of my HUSBAND’S glasses! Yes, my buttery fingers have struck again. The last thing I broke was my coffee mug.  But at least that was mine. My fingers just have this uncanny ability to annihilate things they touch that belong to Paul.

It’s my super power.

I am not proud of it.

I would much prefer the super power of mind control.

And, to make matters worse, I can’t bend over because of my surgery. So there were these little forlorn fragments of broken glass strewn all over the kitchen floor, mocking me from a million different perspectives. So I did the only thing I could think to do.

I swept all those glinting fragments of broken glass into a sad little pile.

And put a bowl on top of it.

A giant, metal mixing bowl.

Right smack dab in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Paul had to finish cleaning it up when he came home. He wasn’t quite sure what to think of the giant metal mixing bowl sitting upside down in the middle of the floor. He walked in and was all, What’s this bowl doing in the floor? And I was like, Oh that’s just the coffin for another one of your glasses.

Our supply of drinking glasses is slowly dwindling away.


I Did It Again.


It has happened again. I broke something. Yet another item has fallen victim to my buttery fingers.

This time, at least, it belonged to me instead of my husband.

It was one of my coffee mugs. I was minding my own business, washing my mug in the sink. I was holding onto the handle with my left hand, and my right hand was washing the inside of the mug out with a washcloth.

That’s when I heard a thick snapping noise and the handle of the mug broke off right in my hand! In my hand! From something as simple as HOLDING the handle! There was no foul play involved- no vigorous washing, jostling, or jarring. I was simply grasping the handle… and not with brute force or anything. Just simply holding the handle.

My broken mug 

Feeling dejected at another item breaking in my buttery fingers, I set the mug down and took a picture of it. As you can see, the broken handle isn’t the only mishap this mug has had with my hands. You can see a glaringly obvious chip near the handle. I am hoping the Internet will find this as woefully amusing as I did. Hey, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em! I can’t seem to stop breaking things, so I must laugh at myself or I will end up breaking my own sanity!


The Curse of the Buttery Fingers


I sometimes wonder if I am the clumsiest person on the planet. Seriously, does anyone have the magical ability to accidentally break more things than I can? It’s to the point that Paul has politely asked me to refrain from touching his favorite dishes… and I don’t blame him. I’ve broken eight of his drinking glasses since we’ve been together.


That’s not counting other containers, decorations, and dishes. It’s like my fingers are made from butter… I pick up an object and somehow, some way, it slides right though my fingers and shatters into a million pieces on the floor. Things even break when I drop them on the carpet. All in all, I think I’ve broken over 20 of Paul’s things since we’ve been together. Here’s the kicker… it’s not all fragile glass. I’ve broken things that are supposed to be difficult to break!

And somehow, it’s usually his stuff that I break and not mine. I’ve broken a few of my things, but overwhelmingly, the majority of broken items belonged to my poor husband.

I stumble a lot, too. And I fall down all the time. All the time. I’ve fallen going UP the stairs. I’ve fallen just by simply walking. I’ve never known anyone to stumble and fall as much as I do. And this has been going on since I was a kid. My mom told me that at every meal, without fail, I would knock my drink over, spilling it all over myself and any other unfortunate occupants of the dinner table.

Come to find out, I was born legally blind. I had 20/300 vision in my right eye and 20/800 vision in my left eye. So naturally, I thought that was why I was so clumsy; I couldn’t see. I started wearing glasses when I was three years old then switched to contacts when I was a teenager. When I was 23, I had corrective eye surgery… once on my right eye and twice on my left. The clumsiness, stumbling, and falling, however, did not cease! And my ability to break things that should not be easily broken has not waned in the slightest.

There is something good that has come out of me being so clumsy; I met my husband by running full-force directly into his chest on our first encounter.

And we ended up getting married!

Little did he know he was marrying someone with the curse of the buttery fingers, leaving a trail of his broken items in her wake…

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