What a great weekend!
So full of sunshine and warmth…and I had to spend it inside, partly because of my pending report deadline and partly because of my people phobia (Why the hell do I live in the centre?!).
I was just making myself some delicious pasta drowned in a large bowl of ketchup and shredded cheese, you know – the master chef stuff! Gordon Ramsay would most likely just throw me out of the window, no questions asked, no insults thrown in my face.
Anyway, as I was leaning in smelling the cooking noodles, thinking if I’ll ever escape the mandatory student cuisine comprising of pasta, sandwiches, instant noodles and whatever you find lying around after a party, I didn’t notice that I might have leaned in too close to the stove.
My hair suddenly caught on fire.
Of course, it did. The next thing I know, a large chunk of my gorgeous greasy split-ended braid has turned black and just sort of fell off. I’m gonna spare you of the description of the initial utter horror which was followed by a period of mindless crying and shameless finishing up of a bucket of ice cream. I ended up with a weird looking hair bun, emptily chewing my pasta, staring at the wall and just givin’ zero fucks about anything (#whitegirlproblems).
It’s nothing surprising.
I am a little clumsy.
That may sound like a total cliché.
If this was a fanfiction, you’d immediately think of the stereotype of Mary Sue – a girl so fucking perfect that no canon character can outshine her; who can fly a freaking helicopter and perform field surgeries; defeats the evil villain with her unique super power; lands the most attractive hunk in the story and has all the characters spewing bullshit about how awesome and beautiful she is with her purple glittering eyes and a name of Queenetta Elliebella Russell-Snape…but darn, if she just isn’t adorable with her quirky clumsiness (I’m looking at you, Bella, Anastasia and all the girls I waste my time reading about in tons of fanfictions! Oh god, I’ve said too much…).
Whoa, I let myself carried away a little.
The point I wanted to make is that I was given that adorable trait of clumsiness which unfortunately doesn’t bring me dozens of admirers but rather tons of burns, bruises, broken bones, colourful vocabulary and, like, zero dignity whatsoever.
I have a very colourful collection of small accidents that I somehow managed to survive despite all odds. Maybe I am a Mary Sue, after all, overcoming troubles and becoming stronger each time. Now, I only need a super special name, gorgeous looks, unique skills and everyone to love me. Sounds easy enough.
Falling asleep…while skiing.
Have you ever fallen asleep in an unexpected situation (Like a boring lecture, a meeting...a date?) Yes?
Have you ever fallen asleep while hurrying down a slope on skis among dozens of other skiers and dense forests in the surroundings?
Well, we’re not all perfect. Needless to say, that my mom giving a 9-year old me a large shot of liquor was an absolutely justified step, seeing as I managed to swerve into a nearby river in my peaceful nap and nearly froze to death in the ice-cold water. Yay!
Playing with dolls…and crushing my finger.
You know that feeling when you don’t know if you should cry or laugh? I know it very well. So does my cousin.
She crushed my index finger between two iron poles in a baby-stroller. While all my tiny bones in my finger were being completely crushed under the surprising strength of my kid-cousin, I managed to scream my lungs out in pain. My poor cousin thought I was laughing and just kept going. When I was finally taken to the hospital, my freaking finger was pointing in every direction, completely deformed.
Men, kids are brutal!
Mistaking brakes with a gas…on a four-wheeler.
What an awesome thing to do, drive around maniacally on a damn four-wheeler. That thing is surprisingly fast…and so confusing! How was I supposed to know where to find brakes? I was too distracted by a nearby kid with a giant lollipop to pay any attention during the tutorial.
Whatever, it was a great way to spend a sunny day – waiting 8 hours in a hospital, ending up with a broken arm…
Going down the stairs…no, ROLLING down the stairs.
There is a reason why I hold the railing on each staircase, thus annoying the shit out of every person who wants to pass my slow ass self. There are MANY reasons. Most of them involved me faceplanting on the ground of the last floor and ending up with a face covered in blood and missing teeth.
Good times! If I was a Mary Sue, I would have many people around me, lifting me off the ground and praising me for my unbelievable strength to overcome all the obstacles my miserable life throws in my way.
Unfortunately, the people passing me by usually shake their head disapprovingly and mumble something along the lines of “Stop goofing around!”, “Get yourself checked out!” and “Um…are you going to clean the floor?”
Well, excuse me then!
In this case, I will be the one applauding myself, just like you all should:
Good job! You might be super unlucky, but life hasn’t managed to kill you just yet! You are a survivor! Let’s keep it that way!
Hooray, we’re all alive!
Is there a better reason to be happy? (Not counting ice-cream!)
