I cut my thumb last night on the rim of a tin can. I was trying to open corn for dinner. I should have used the Pampered Chef Can Opener, but I just cannot figure out how to use the thing. So instead, I used a can opener that my mom has had since, I don't know, probably before I was born, and sliced my thumb right open. And now I'm wearing a band aid, and it's a huge inconvenience.

But it sounds about right, doesn't it?

I'm that klutzy kind of person that is always, tripping, falling or cutting myself.

Zach cannot watch me cook in the kitchen, he gets anxiety watching me around sharp knives. He always reminds me to "Be careful with that!" He says it very frenzied as if I am about three seconds away from slicing my thumb off.

I probably am.

And it's more than just not being careful(Because believe me, I have no sense of caution. At. All.) it's actually an inherit, innate flaw. I was born with like this destruction button. You know, after I touch something, whatever it is will self destruct in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1...........KABOOM.

Everything I touch, including myself, is on a path for annihilation, it's only a matter of time.

I've never had a properly working cell phone. Something ALWAYS happens. Currently, the one I'm using was at one time very nice and it slid both ways and has a little keyboard to text on. Now? It's totally broken. And sometimes, a lot of times, it doesn't send out my text messages, which is like my main form of communication, so you can imagine how irritating that is! And just try, just try to dial a number on it. You get two numbers in and it erases everything and you have to start over and over and over and over. Frustrating to say the least.

And Zach's phone? Well he just got a brand new Iphone which I will not even look at because his old phone? The one he just had? I broke. One night, he let me play Word Mole, which kind of happens to be the sweetest phone game ever.... But the next morning? His phone totally didn't work anymore. Not even a little bit. And it was an expensive phone.

When Zach and I first got married, we had to buy everything. I mean everything. We both lived with our parents and so had no furniture or dishes or anything of our own! I mean I didn't even own a car. All we had was Zach's Eclipse and my 13 inch box TV. We registered for everything of course and received a ton! But, one of the things we had to buy on our own was Glasses. Like, Kitchen glasses. They weren't anything special, just Target brand or whatever. We bought one set of 8 tall ones, and another of 8 tumblers.

Two years later when we moved in with my mom. There was exactly 1 tall glass and 1 tumbler remaining. I had broken ALL of the other glasses. That's not even counting the other, random, accumulated glasses along the way.

Don't even get me started on the number of dishes I broke. I love my dishes. I don't like to talk about it.

Coincidence?

I don't think so.

How about the cars I've had? Every single one has been in a car accident.

Ok, they weren't all my fault. And well, there is one car that survived my destruction. My 1982 BMW. It was a manual. And came with sheepskin seat covers, that is until I left the sun roof open during a torrential downpour one day. Does that count as an accident? I loved that car never the less. It had no heat. No air. No radio. No back seat. It definitely did have a smell. And finally when my brother's friend stole it, I had to say goodbye.

So, the other cars. Kaput. (Is that how you spell that?) Even the cars we drive now, bare the marks of my curse. The Taurus was damaged a year ago when I hit another car while I was 8 months pregnant. Awesome. And the Van was damaged this fall when a friend of ours backed into it. It was His fault. Right? Wasn't it? Are you sure?

I'm not.

I haven't had a coat in like five years. Until this year. When I found an old one. I wore it for um, maybe five days. At the most. I took it to a friends house and for whatever reason, decided the best place for it was on the floor. Ten minutes later? Their dog had eaten it.

Some could blame the dog?

Not me. I know better.

My dad used to tell me that he would never be able to have anything nice because of "you kids," referring to me and my younger brother. I used to shrug it off because I thought that was the case with ALL kids. That no parents can have anything nice because their children destroy it all.

It's not true.

Now that I'm older, I see that he was specifically talking to me.

It's a good thing I'm not very materialistic. I can live/make do with just about anything! And that's really the truth. Zach and I made do with one car for the first four years of our marriage. And we worked on opposite sides of the city and had different hours.

Like I said earlier, I don't own a winter coat. And, the kicker is I only own one long sleeved shirt. Um, I live in Nebraska. And we've had a little bit of a winter here over the past couple of months.

Yes, I could go out and buy a coat. That would make my life a whole lot easier. AND my arms a lot happier. But what's the point? I will spend money on it and then two days later, in some freak and random accident it will be destroyed. So really, what is the point?

We want to buy a house. That is the goal here in the next few months. But I don't think I can do it. I don't think I can hold the responsibility of owning a house. Of having to fix every little thing that breaks or goes wrong. Because let's face it, we're talking a huge investment here!

It gives me a panic attack just thinking about it.

I would much rather rent. I would much rather have a Landlord that pays for all of the broken whatevers and what-nots.

It's not even the mortgage, although for someone who uses no credit at all, I mean no credit cards, a mortgage kind of goes against everything I believe in.

But still it's not the monthly payments. It's the fear of investing those monthly payments into something that will in all likelihood get crushed by a speeding meteor from outerspace or fall to the depths of the earth in some giant, cataclysmic earthquake. Yes. In Nebraska.

I keep thinking that since I'm an adult now, like a real grown up, with kids of my own and a husband and all that jazz I will grow out of destructo-mode, that something will happen to me and I will learn how NOT to break things. Like, I learned how to cook, I will also learn how not to be klutzy!

And I am a grown up. And I do have to do grown-up things like buy cars and buy houses and raise children. And I should really, do my best not to break those things.

Seriously, can you imagine me at 50, trying to live a normal, middle aged life, walking around with the Anti-Midas Touch, turning everything not into gold, but into piles of rubbish and broken glass?

I can.

Yikes.

And it's not a pretty site.