Some things don't change

Don't let it be said that you outgrow klutziness.
I'm living proof.

When I was a kid,
Children's Aid was beginning to have a large impact.
Teachers were encouraged to contact the organization
to report anything unusual with their students.

Imagine my mother's surprise
when a caseworker knocked at our door.
She introduced herself and told my mom that
my kindergarten teacher had noticed
that I was coming to school--quite often--
with bruises.

My mother was about to give this woman
more than just a piece of her mind, when
--with perfect timing--
I came tumbling down the stairs.
Literally.
Head over heals,
landing in a big heap
right in front of the caseworker.

My mother looked at the woman,
raised an eyebrow,
and gestured to me with her hand,
in a 'voila!' sort of way.

The woman muttered an apology
and left.

Last Thursday,
the scenario was repeated.
Big heap, and all.
I missed the last step coming down the stairs,
and sprained my ankle.

As I screamed out in pain,
both the dog and TH came running.
One (perhaps both) of them
began licking my face,
making sure I was OK.

TH made it quite clear
that I was a walking disaster.
Crushing thumbs...
cutting limbs...
breaking bones...
I was relegated to the sofa
for the duration of the weekend.

I wonder where that caseworker is now?