The Fine Art of Making a Mess.....

It wouldn't be my life if I didn't spill something every 3 hours or so.
For goodness sakes how else would Alan even know it was ME, and not some doppleganger that's taken my place, if coffee grounds (fresh or used, doesn't seem to matter) dont go flying across the kitchen floor?
If salt wasn't dumped all over the tv trays, enchilada sauce splashed across my hands...shirt...floor....ceiling......
If I didn't knock a bowl with sticky, sweet, strawberry juice onto the kitchen floor mat? The kitchen floor mat that is conveniently dimpled to maximize difficulty of cleaning....
If MORE enchilada sauce wasn't dumped down the front of the stove....
If flour wasn't poofed across every available surface in the flour poofing vicinity and most of all if I didn't knock over the kitchen trash at least once a week......
why poor Alan might suspect I'd been replaced with some do-gooder wanna-be that might be neater then me, less clumsy for sure, but not near as entertaining.
I have found swearing at inanimate evil spills, that had the audacity to occur as a result of me being clumsy, quite satisfying.
You should try it.
Oh yes and hurling (one must always hurl when given the opportunity) Shakespearen-ish curses at the crumbs, sauces and poofed flour that had the misfortune of running into me and my flying hands.
My Mother has always warned me against cursing...she says you never know if there's a minister in the bushes listening. I have always said if there's a minister in the bushes we have bigger problems then my foul language.
Problems like cleaning up the poofed flour, splish splashed enchilada sauce and knocked over garbage can. If there's a minister hiding in my bushes he'd best come inside and help me clean.