This summer I had an accident.
I often have little accidents, not of the incontinent nature I'm just pretty clumsy, but this one involved a cup of freshly brewed coffee. I can already hear the intake of breadth as you read.
Similar to The Ketchup Story this is one to tell your kids. Show and warn them of the perils of not listening to their wise parents when practising the art of common sense.
I was curled up in the edge of a couch with a good book and was getting nice and comfy when my little sister came through with the offer of a coffee. Hmm sounds good, pl for a caffine addict,us I didn't need to get up for it. So I waited for the kettle to boil and duly my little sister made me a cup of coffee and brought it over.
I was positioned such that my feet were tucked up under me and my book was in my left hand. I reached with my right hand to take the cup - which my sister was holding by the handle.
I placed my hand over the top of the cup, feeling the steam of the coffee against the palm of my right hand. My first mistake. The temperature of the cup had not yet started to warm my finger tips. Before it did I decided it would be a good idea to move. My second and possibly biggest mistake.
To balance the book on the arm of the chair, lean my left elbow on the arm and pass the handle of the cup into my left hand from my right hand. That was the plan, simple hmm!
My fingers and palm started to sweat from the heat and the cup began to slide ever so slightly out of my grasp as I tried to speed up this maneuver. I lost it.
The cup dropped squarely onto my left knee and tumbled directly into my lap. Completely upside down resting against my body and the crook of the couch. Coffee completely decanted all over the top of my left leg.
For a fleeting moment I thought I might have gotten away with it. However the thick cotton joggers I was wearing only served to marginally delay the contact of coffee with skin.
I jumped up and with lightening speed ripped off my joggers, leaving me in standing in a t-shirt and pair of flattering bubblegum grey pants. My sister could only stand and watch in awe.
She told me later, as I sat with my ice pack on my leg, that I basically took the cup and the next thing she knew I was standing in the middle of the living room in my pants. She had no idea that I had dropped the cup on myself.
The pain was incredible and resulted in a scaled about the size of the palm of my hand. Which was fine however I had to wear a skirt and a lot of Vaseline on my burn.
I can, and will, no longer take a cup by the top. It gets put down on a table and I drink it like a grown up holding the handle. I don't fidget or fuss when I have a hot drink in my hands.
The rules of not shaking a ketchup bottle without checking the lid is on first and being sensible with hot drinks are ones that I was actually taught growing up but the complacency of adulthood would suggest that I might have forgotten some of the basics.
My little sister may no longer be capable of making me a hot drink without fear of me spontaneously stripping down to my pants. If it wasn't for her thoughtful packing I would have had to manage a week in jeans and trousers - not a good position to be in. So thank you little sister for the coffee (that I never drank) and for the dresses you let me wear all week.
The klumsiness would appear to be a gene that I alone have inherited because I don't believe you or littlest sister end up in these little episodes!!!
The following picture may be a little hard to take for the more delicate reader. . .
Courtesy of my little sister