My mother’s favourite joke – the rare times she did joke – is that once I finish cooking, the kitchen looks like a bomb blast site. What she does not realise is that her joke is very close to the mark. Each time I cook, rather each moment I am at home, it is like surviving some or the other near-death experience.
Susan Miller on her website, Astrology Zone, does warn that Venus is retrograde till April 16th or something; Venus is the planet ruling relationships and not mortality. Had it been Jupiter or Uranus, I would have been more careful. While I am usually accident-prone – I don’t like the word ‘clumsy’ – it seems that for some time now, my stars are particularly badly aligned.
Like this morning. Back from Torquay – coastal town on the Great Ocean Road – I was doing a quick-clean-up-before-blogging when I banged my head against the cupboard door. One minute I was putting away tee shirts, the other moment I turned my head and rammed into the door. I did not slip, I knew the door was there and yet… Now I have a huge bump. Any harder and my skull would have cracked. (Pic: Of the Great Ocean Road, the view is spectacular)
A little later, I was cleaning the kitchen bench and wiping away breadcrumbs under the toaster when I noticed the toaster was dirty. So I wet the dishcloth and wiped the toaster. I was about to wipe the insides of the toaster with the wet cloth when I noticed the damn thing was on. Instant electrocution narrowly avoided.
So I went to call Partner to get some reassurance that I was still alive when in my distraught state, I misjudged the distance between my arse and the chair and fell on the floor. My back could have broken, y’ know. By now I was in shock and pulling the chair slowly, sat on it carefully and called Partner. His phone was out of reach when I decided to write down my harrowing experiences.
As I typed, I leaned back on the chair – balancing on its hind legs now – when again I misjudged (must be the earlier bump-on-head) and toppled backwards. Nearly broke my neck but for my wrist getting in the way and getting horrendously twisted. Rather the wrist than the neck.
Not to mention the other day when I nearly ironed my hand while trying to iron a shirt and take down a recipe on TV. Or when the potato flew from my hands, knocked off a glass tumbler that crashed to the floor and there were glass shards all around my bare feet… And while rushing to clean up the glass, the knife slipped and fell with the pointy end between my toes.
Or when I was pouring boiling hot water over snow peas – blanching them – and since I had forgotten to cover the kettle, the steam rose straight into my hands, scalding them. Of course I let go of the kettle and had boiling water all over my chest. Now I have burnt freckles on my boobs.
While indoors is where I usually escape death, I am more careful when outdoors. However, now I have suspicions that things are changing there as well….
Like this weekend in Torquay, when Partner and I decided to go swimming in the ocean. Now let me tell you that my stepping into any body of water – even a bathtub – is fraught with danger since I cannot swim. My swimming is like putting a one-winged, fledgling into water: Much drama, much splashing, hardly any movement. Since I trust Partner to watch out for me – and also because he will have to answer to my Dad if I drown or something – I am more than happy to step into rolling tides and crashing waves with him. (Pic: Not in Torquay, but me at the 12 Apostles, further along the Great Ocean Road, Oct '08)
So there we were, Partner swimming beautifully and me doing my splash-gulp-choke-splutter when Partner’s facial expressions changed and he asked me not to move. Now staying motionless is bloody darned difficult in the ocean. Given that I was standing chin-deep in water and even the gentlest of waves make me bob like a cork, I was not happy to be told to stay still. That’s when I looked down at where Partner was pointing. And died of fright…
There have been a series of shark attacks in Australia since the beginning of 2009. It does not matter that those were on Sydney beaches and we were in Torquay… Sharks can swim can they not? Given that I’ve also seen enough TV programmes that say sharks prefer still waters – and that the ocean was particularly still when we were inside – I was sure there was a great white swimming near me. It had not helped that Partner had helpfully pointed out earlier that sharks prefer darker skin since well, darker skin looks more like a seal.
Duly terrified, I looked down at where Partner was pointing… Thankfully, it was not a shark. It was a stingray. Since the thing swimming right next to my ankle was at least a metre wide, I was somewhat alarmed. However, I was glad to point out to Partner – and relieved! – that a stingray does not have shark-teeth. I was about to show how brave I was and
Thankfully, the big, grey stingray soon got bored of my ankles and swam away elsewhere. I, however, refused to move an inch and insisted on being carried out. And it was while I was being carried out by Partner – quite a nice feeling I must say – that I had an epiphany…
I am not prone to accidental-suicide… Someone is doing voodoo on me.
PS: If I suddenly stop blogging, know what has happened. I wouldn’t mind a nice tribute, Facebook-page either. And if you have to use a picture to go with my online obituaries, please use the nice Goa-ones on my Facebook page. I am the slimmest in those.
PS2: This advertisement for the Toyota RAV4 is so meant for people like me…
(Pic credits: 1. Baby pic, Twine.com; 2. Great Ocean Road, The Age, Stingray toon)