I ran into a tree branch yesterday while playing with my nieces and nephews, and now I have a slight cut on my forehead. I feel like Harry Potter, except that while his forehead scar symbolized his mother's love and his triumph over a dark lord, my cut simply symbolizes that I got bested by a tree.
And my mother has now admitted that I am indeed a klutz. She thought for years that I was graceful, simply because I apparently did well in my ballet class as a child. But since I started pointing out to her all of my falls and injuries, she has now admitted it - I am indeed a graceful klutz. And proud of it.
