Hello, my name is Phlosphr and I am a Klutz. As my Jewish MIL calls me, I’m a Cloika. I broke every one of our nice wine glasses that we got for our marriage not 3 months after we were wed. My mind is usually going a million miles a minute about any number of things, so holding a wine glass steady for any amount of time is usually a chore.
I’ve been married nearly 8 years and my wife has smartened up on the things I should be allowed to touch i.e. glass things. We have boxes of wine glasses in the garage, 4 packs bought for a few dollars a box…we don’t go through them too often, but we do go through them.
I’m a big guy, around 6’2" and a solid 220-230. I have big feet as well, ergo I trip over things like thresholds, I don’t pay attention to signs that say watch your step. I’m simply a Klutz. It doesn’t affect my work, I can still stand in front of a class and write quite legibly on a chalkboard. I don’t studder, and am usually quite articulate.
However, I’ve learned long ago that Sapphire Martini’s slightly Dirty belong in Tumblers and not easily spillable martini glasses. With the frequency of cocktail parties and dinners throughout the year, I’ve gleaned much experience and am becoming less Klutzy.
So any other Klutzes out there? Any funny Anecdotes?
According to my mother, I am not a klutz, I am a bull in a china shop. I think that maybe I should be a cow in a china shop, if anything, but she begs to differ. My defense is that I rarely break things. At least, I don’t break things with any frequency. Four years ago, I was given a set of Royal Daulton crystal champagne flutes. I still have 'em, and I’ve moved twice. Of course, I’ve only used them twice.
I trip over painted lines in parking lots. I usually have so many bruises on my legs that I look as if I walked a gauntlet of midgets with baseball bats. If there is something shin-height anywhere near me, I will run into it. I think I’m walking around something, but either my perception of the object’s position or my perception of the size of my own ass is wrong, and bam. I fall up stairs. I poke myself in the eye at least once a day. Luckily, I can’t actually hit myself in the head while opening my kitchen cabinets. I am short, I am chubby, I can’t walk across a room without hurting myself, but I show an inordinate amount of grace when drunk or dancing. I don’t get it.
But you’re not alone. I, too, am a klutz. No matter what my mom says.
I didn’t even know I was a klutz until I met my husband. I thought everyone walked into doorframes, stubbed their toes, dropped glasses, cut themselves, pinched their fingers, etc. We were comparing scars a little while ago, and he doesn’t have any. I get about three more each year (I’m currently developing a scar on my hand from fishing my mail out of the mailbox). The one on the side of my foot from where I dropped the knife when I was barefoot is also coming along nicely (I almost got my foot out of the way, but the tip of the knife just grazed it on the way down).
As for me not being allowed to touch things, I’m not allowed to clean in his room (after breaking a model, and not that I want to, anyway), and I don’t touch things or pick them up while shopping. It’s just better that way.
I don’t know what makes people klutzy. I’ve recently learned that I may have some depth perception problems, so maybe that’s it.
This isn’t easy. Let’s start with my left knee (that’s right, this is ONE little knee):
one scar where a professor shoved me down during a powder-puff basketball game (and they didnt’ even call a foul on her!).
A huge one where I fell on my treadmill (walking 5 miles/hour).
One where the razor slipped and almost discested my knee.
I have many scars on my shins where I tripped pushing a cart where I used to work.
I have a scar on my chin from when I feel into a barbed-wire fence; one in my hand where I slammed it in the mailbox, and then yanked it out
I could go on guys, but I think you get the picture
I took 3 years of ballet, starting at the age of 8. Thanks to this early training, I can now walk and chew gum at the same time.
I fell off my heels at my senior prom. And I wasn’t drunk.
At least once a week, I wind up with a mystery bruise. I have no idea how it got there, it just is.
I broke two of my toes when I slipped on the stairs and slid the rest of the way down on the knuckles of said toes. That was fun to explain at the emergency room.
Oh, and while talking on the phone and posting to this board, I tried to bite the cap off my pen and ended up biting all the way through the pen and getting ink all over myself. (I can’t believe I just admitted that…)
if6was9 thinks my klutziness is adorably charming. I think he’s deluded, but as long as he keeps me from hurting myself, that’s all I really care about…
Anybody remember that old, old, plastic dinnerware called Melmac? It was guaranteed to be unbreakable. It took a couple of years, but I broke it all, except for 2 saucers and a small plate that I still have. I think I broke the first piece by dropping a toaster on it, and it was all down hill from there.
I’ve fallen down my own stairs a number of times, and yes, I was cold sober.
We used to have a big, sweet Saint Bernard who was so big she could not climb up all the stairs, so she used to spread out on one of the lower ones. One day I slipped at the top of the stairs and came bumping down at her; scared the bejeezus out of the poor thing. I hadn’t known she could move that fast.
I’ve actually gotten somewhat better with experience; I try to look ahead and see if there’s any situation that I’m likely to have a problem with. When I go down stairs, I go slowly and always hang onto the rail. Pisses people off who want to go down them faster. If they’re not being a jerk about it I stand aside and let them pass.
Speaking of walking and chewing gum at the same time, that reminded me of an aptitude test I took some years ago. It turns out that my hand-to-eye co-ordination is better than 99.999% of the general population (I did the tests so quickly my score was off the charts) - so where does this klutziness come from? How come I have to use plastic tumblers for my morning juice so I don’t get glass shards in my feet?
Personally, I think it is those of us on the upper tier of complexity that are the klutziest. We simply just don’t think of the pettyness of holding a glass tight enough, or lifting out feet high enough
This cracked me right up. I’ve posted before about my clumsiness, so will just add three of my highlights. I’ve fallen onto the row in front of me at a soccer match (very nice man, didn’t seem to mind too terribly), paper-cut my eye, and the piece de resistance - shut my head in a door.
About an hour ago when i was washing my hair i dropped the shampoo bottle five times and cracked it. I don’t think i’ve ever finished a bottle without cracking it open. I’m always the clumsy girl in the corridors at school who drops folders and books for no reason and I’m always smacking my head on cupboard doors when i open them. People think it’s so funny.
I use the excuse that I have a very lazy right eye (true) and thus tend to not see things on that side of my body (true also, but not connected). While there are always new and different things for me to walk into, there’s a door frame at work, a huge table in the middle of my lab, and a waterfountain on the way to the bathroom that jump out and attack Every Single Time.
I also need to remember to look for chairs before sitting down.
I feel like I’ve met my true family by reading this thread.
Yes, I’m a klutz. I trip. I stub my toes. One night I ran into the bookcase in the hallway five times. Five.
I cut corners too tight and run into door jambs. I am constantly getting fingers cut, crushed, pinched, slammed in drawers, or bent.
I hyperextended two fingers while driving.
I dislocated my thumb while playing the trombone.
My greatest moment? Walking across campus years back with a jacket on that had one of those drawstring bottoms. The drawstring had the slidy beads at each end. I attempted to walk down a sidewalk, the drawstring wrapped around the wheel of a bicycle in a bike rack. I went down, pulling the rack off its moorings tipping all of the bikes over with an enormous crash.
As you can imagine, I managed to do this at the busiest building on campus during the busiest time of the day, right in front of one of my professors.
Of course, that bad impression my professor had was neatly erased after I:
Careened into him while dashing down the stairs of the same building and,
Nearly ran him over as I left a parking lot of the same building.
Funny thing about this thread is that today, my friend referred to me as a klutz in front of a guy who had just asked for my phone number. I could not disagree, and my embarrassment at this true label was only mitigated because the guy thought it was cute. Little does he know that…
-I broke the fourth toe on my left foot twice; once walking to the back of someone’s shod foot, and once walking into a doorframe. I just stubbed the same toe as I was walking back to my computer 10 minute ago. Don’t know why that toe gets hurt so much, but toe stubbing is a regular part of my life.
-I broke my lower front tooth in half when I banged my jaw into my brother’s head by accident. It’s capped now, thank god.
-Nearly severed the end of my left index finger slicing parsley for a vegan meal. It sure wasn’t vegan after my life’s blood gushed lustily into it.
-Is it normal to fall on your ass once a month? Just walking? Granted, it’s icy as a bastard here right now, but still. Certain shoes seem to give me more trouble than others, but now I’m just making excuses.
-There is no time in my life when my legs do not have at least two bruises each from me bunking into furniture. I have no idea why it’s so hard for me to avoid large pieces of furniture, but apparently it’s too much to ask.
I think I’m just a hopeless klutz and I don’t even have the excuse of being a large person, having depth perception issues or any eye problems. Sigh. Hope this doesn’t just get worse as I get older…
I’m such a klutz this is the first time I have heard klutz used in conversation.
BUT anyway, it’s not really that I do more oafish things than everyone else, just when I do they are more noticeable. For instance, there was a door you have to push to open, which was shut. Normal person pulls on door handle, realises mistake and pushes to open. I pull on door handle, it comes off in my hand along with sizeable chunk of door.
Normal person takes wrong turn in cross-country race, notices mistake, returns to course. I take wrong turn, 150 people follow as I run blindly through private property complete with bemused owners.
Oh, and there was also the incident of the “Large Box That Needed Disposing Of” but lets not get into THAT…
Speaking of bruises, I’m a very lucky klutz because I don’t bruise easily. Which is kind of annoying sometimes, because how do you get sympathy when you have no bruises to show for your pain?
Rubystreak, I’m not sure what my husband thinks of my klutziness. I do know that my chewing gum was banned from the company truck, though. (Who knew there were so many ways to get gum stuck on things?)
Given my username, I really couldn’t pass this thread by.
I’m sure I’m not the only one here familiar with the experience of: “Oh, I’m bleeding. I wonder how that happened?”
Well, just after college I worked in a paint store for a while. I ended up getting assigned to run the framing shop because I found it interesting. All good and fine, except that part of framing is cutting glass to the appropriate size. Now, I may be a klutz, but I’m also too stubborn to let it prevent me from doing something I want to do. But it was an interesting job, frequently thinking to myself, “Don’t bleed on the artwork… don’t bleed on the artwork.”
Boy oh boy, where do I start? My nickname as a child was “Crash” if that means anything. Hey, it’s better than my sister, who was nicknamed “Damn It.”
Here’s a brief history of my childhood klutziness, with emphasis on special scars.
Sometime before age 1: While cruising around in baby walker, I tipped it over, and ended up with a u-shaped scar between my eyes.
Sometime after age 1: I didn’t learn to walk, I learned to run. I learned how to stop when I was running around my grandma’s coffee table. I tripped, and ended up with a nice scar on my lip.
Around age 5: I grew up on a farm, and loved riding in the tractor with dad. One day, not wanting to be left out, I sprinted to the tractor, hopped in, and closed the cab door on my left thumb. I walked around for two weeks with my thumb straight in the air and refused to use that hand. I am ambidextrous (I was a natural left-hander) and have a nice scar as a result.
Somewhere around age 7: Somehow managed to take off the tip of the ring finger on my right hand during a nasty tangle with a folding chair. Once again, I have the scar to prove it.
Some other highlights:
Age 17: Met world’s klutziest guy, fell in love, married him at age 22. Does that make us klutzhood sweethearts? I’m amazed sometimes that the two of us are able to survive on our own. We’re both tall and have big feet, what can I say?
Age 22: While on a midnight potty trip, I ran into the shelf on our bedroom wall, and proceeded to knock off and break everything on it.
Age 23: Slipped in the shower, fell out backwards, bruised my tailbone on the floor, and pulled the shower curtain rod down on top of me.
Age 24: Tripped and fell (maybe dived is more appropriate) off the top step going outside of our house, while carrying my blind dog (God rest her soul). In trying to protect the dog, I scratched up both knees, both hands, and my wedding ring. No, the dog didn’t die that day.
This morning (age 26): While walking out to my car to go to work, I ran into a bush. This happens often.
Other specialties:
Kicking the coffee table. Happens weekly, if not daily. Maybe coffee tables and I just aren’t meant to be?
Breaking glasses. We have a cheap-o set that we got as a wedding gift that there are only three left of because I’ve broken the other five. Eyeglasses too. My parents finally had to get contacts for me after I broke several pairs in junior high sports.
Burning myself. I generally severely burn myself in as much time it takes for the previous burn to heal up.
Spilling. Once dropped a gallon of milk in the grocery store (by the way, it goes a LOT further when you look at it that way). Recently spilled a bowl of cereal in my crotch before work and sloshed a bowl of chicken noodle soup all over the coffee table (there’s that damn coffee table again!). Once flipped entire pizza upside down on the floor. There are too many others to list.
Basically, I’m just a general menace to myself. I loved reading your stories. Made me laugh out loud at work!
