I hear the phrase “I’m clumsy” quite often. It usually means, “Sorry I half-tripped up your stairs this one time, I’ll try to be cute about it even though it was just a tiny slip that anyone could make.” So here’s the thing; it’s going to be funny to most of our friends when we break our ankles body-slamming a wall because we can’t get traction on a normal walking turn, or when we break a couple toes running into a door that’s pretending to be four inches more to the right from where it actually is (for the third time). They’re going to snicker as they watch us fight with every fiber of our beings to keep our balance when applying sunscreen and, per usual, end up with the most ridiculous burn lines anyway. We endure the same jokes every Friday night about how we can’t wear high heels like the rest of our friends, because we’ve had eleven sprains between our two ankles and now they’re chronically weak. It’s always hilarious when we can’t use an ordinary kitchen knife without chopping the tip of a finger off and losing it in the vat of sauce, or when we have to take staircases really slowly because we can’t count on two hands the number of times we’ve been seriously injured making that journey, or when we accidentally tell our professors or employers or best friend’s parents that we’re in love with them because it seemed like a less awkward option than silence at the time. To be clear, it was definitely more awkward. It was probably the most awkward thing that’s ever happened. I can’t even begin to explain why or how it happened, but it did. The point is, however horrendous or embarrassing these incidents are in the moment, they make for hilarious stories and valuable lessons later on.

Here’s a good one from a couple weeks ago: a girlfriend of mine left her cardigan at a third party’s house (a friend of a friend). Guess who she asked to pick it up? Right. So I get to the address, and this guy answers the door. He was exactly what I expected—red, glossy eyes; slow movements; slurred speech, and speaking friendly words in a grumpy tone. I said, “Hey, I’m a friend of _____’s and I’m here for her jacket.” He said, “Okay.” (Note: most of the men I know personally don’t really know what cardigans are, so “jacket” seemed like the appropriate diction. I don’t want this to appear as a discrepancy, it was definitely a cardigan.) Anyway… He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. We were just standing in his doorway… Staring at each other. I then said, “Okay… may I come in? Or can you go get it please?” He’s shouted “SURE YEAH sure.”

Obviously, the interaction was already a little odd, which was probably a sign, and what happened next was probably my fault for having not recognized that sign. I followed him to one of the bedrooms. He lifted the cardigan from the arm chair in the corner and turned around to watch me (most likely in slow motion for both of us, but for different reasons) slam face-first into the frame of the door, spin into the room in total confusion and fall down. On the way to the floor, I tried to grab the table next to the door in a last-ditch effort to stop what was happening, but let’s be real here; I was doomed from the beginning… two and a half seconds ago. The table shook, a lit candle fell over and the table caught fire. We’re in the fourth second of this incident and all I can think is, “That is a fire… I started that fire… Now I must put that fire out with this glass of water sitting on the table next to it.” It made a lot of sense at the time. Most people, it would stand to reason, would have a glass of water in their bedrooms in the middle of the afternoon. There was no reason to question this decision and I was running out of time!

It was not water. It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, water. The flames became much larger, and luckily they were still confined to the surface of the table when a towel soared over my head, startling me and smothering the fire. Bob Marley over here had thankfully pulled his wits together for ONE brief, fleeting moment and saved the day. I hadn’t even begun to stand up and I was already apologizing when he cut me off and slurred, “It’s okay, it happens all the time.” It’s been two weeks and I still haven’t processed that sentence.

On the drive home I called the aforementioned girlfriend and opened with, “Hey I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news.” Needless to say, it’s a good thing he and she weren’t that serious. But you see, I’m glad I have that story. That’s a great story for the next group dinner. There are some memorable supporters of our history (that is, The History of the Maladroit) who used their clumsiness to this advantage, and we love them! Take a moment to acknowledge performers like John Ritter, Tim Conway, The Three Stooges, Jim Carrey and Steve Martin. There’s a running list of people who made nearly dangerous coordination and depth-perception issues a source of joy and good humor for a great deal of people. They were good for our cause. They were and are our Mockingjays.

So, my fellow four-eyes and butterfingers, I know we have all at some point met “That One Inebriated Girl” at a social gathering of whatever sorts who claims, “I’m so clumsy you have no idea” after falling over the couch and spilling her wine; and then she makes the situation even worse by letting out the most annoying and oddly enough, most attractive giggle we all hate to envy – and we really struggle to feel for her. You’d think we would embrace having found another of our own, but instead we feel more alone. I mean, she took four shots of Smirnoff not one hour ago, “clumsiness” is not exactly what’s at play here. But just look around the party! First off, you’re here at a party. Good for you. I know it’s hard to imagine but I’ve pretty much been a dork my whole life, as most of us are, and I wasn’t really ever invited to parties - score one for you, my friend *pumps fist into the air* REPRESENT. Anyway, look around the party! These smooth, collected, charming people have NO idea what it’s like to carry a jumbo box of Band-Aids and a first aid kit (with the best of the best Neosporin or if you will, the crème de la crème of magic cut-healing creams) every day; not only in your purse, but in your bedroom; bathroom; kitchen and glove compartment. Of course that’s not enough though, because each of your close friends definitely keeps an emergency “(Insert Your Name Here) Band-Aid Stash” in their respective homes because they’ve seen the way you slice off three-inch peelings of skin while shaving your legs virtually every day, and they can be quite concerned for you at times. I also don’t know how that keeps happening. I’m 21 years old - I should be able to shave my legs without turning the tub water pink. I’ll work on that.

Anyway, what I can say with absolute confidence is that I have never met another truly clumsy person who I didn’t like. We are a very amiable, and well-grounded people! I would attribute that to a deeply engrained paranoia that every one of us three-footed, near-sighted, gawky, blundering klutzes live with. It’s this constant fear that we’re going to accidentally bump into one of our grandmothers’ bookshelves and a giant dolphin figurine and a snow-globe collection will come crashing down on our heads. It really does put things into perspective, if you think about it. I don’t mind that the kind staff in the local Emergency Room knows me by my first name; they’re surprisingly lovely people considering the tasks they must perform every day. Additionally, the opportunity to get to know nurses and EMTs who regularly witness amazing life or death experiences has definitely changed me as a person.

Take a moment to consider the clumsy people in your life – they tend to have the best attitudes, right? I personally think it’s worth it. I doubt I would be where I am today if I had grown up even a little suave or at-all well coordinated; it wouldn’t suit me. The moment you get a real contusion from a champagne cork hitting the center of your forehead, you realize – I have always been, and will always be like this. Sure my friends will laugh, but disregarding the fact that I look completely disoriented right now (making the George W. Bush Staring-Into-the-Sun Face with a soaked blouse and a giant pink Bindi), I can look around and know that my minor injuries were worth it for this one rich, amusing moment. I’ll pour the champagne, and toast to my friends and roommates – who can vouch for literally every example I’ve given in this piece – and then I’ll toast to my people: we are clumsy, and we are proud.