Cursed?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm cursed.

"What?!", I hear you cry. "But your life, it is so perfect! What ever could you have to lament about?!"

Let me tell you...

I believe that from the day I was born I was doomed to be a klutz - a clumsy, butterfingered, ham-handed, bumbling little mofo. Most people that know me can probably attest to this, probably even provide broken pieces of their prized possessions as evidence. But in case you don't believe me, allow me to elaborate...

It started when I was a child and I would break things. My Dad had a rule: "look with your eyes, not with your hands". I broke this rule once and I broke an $80 cookie jar. It now sits in the maths department at Avondale College.

I can still remember the scornful looks Robin's mum used to give me when I smashed yet another glass on their kitchen floor.

And of course a part-time career in hospitality was always a bright decision - at my first job the owners kindly offered to foot the drycleaning bill when I spilled whipped cream down some Ponsonby-ites jacket. And at Sweet Mother's my colleagues would often offer to put their name instead of mine in the "breakages book" after I broke yet another glass... or caraffe, or hot sauce bottle, or plate.

Cars are the worst though. I totaled my mother's car a week after I got my restricted license (and I should add that this car had been given to her by my grandfather who, at the time of this incident, was on his deathbed), caused a minor two-car pileup in my mother's next car, and knocked the indicator out of the bf's... that one was just a few month's ago.

The poor boy... I think he feels like he has felt the effects the worst. Last night - after I knocked a shelf out of the fridge after grabbing it when I sneezed, and consequently smashing both bottles of hot sauce he made and had been waiting patiently to eat - he asked me despairingly, "Why is it always my stuff that you break?".
Oh, he could have also been referring to his headphones that I stood on and broke a couple months ago.

So. That's only a taste, but it seems like a curse to me. How else can you explain it???