I win yet another award for being a klutz.  This week's addition: I was walking from the car to the apartment, three groceries bags slung over my shoulders (the sturdy bring-your own kind), a plastic home-depot bag in the crook of my arm and one jug of milk in each hand.  (Yes, N and I go through about two gallons a week.)  I knelt down to readjust one of the bags to share a hand with the milk, and when I got up, the milk flew out of my hand and broke on the ground, a nice three inch gash in the middle of the side.

Not knowing what else to do, I picked it up and tried to keep walking, carrying it as far from my person as possible at an odd angle to minimize spill.  It bled profusely along the way, and I kept thinking of a high-school story of some kid who got a gash down to an artery and bled all over the school.  By the time I got to the door of the building, it had lost enough fluid that I could carry it in the palm of my hand, crack up, without spilling too much.  You try that sometime.

After getting everything into the apartment, I did a quick spot clean of the building's public area and the path from our door to the kitchen, where the milk jug lay on its side in agony.  I dispersed the milk to various containers (a pitcher, a partially empty milk container, and a water bottle), and dealt with the milky mess all over my kitchen.  Oiya, what a morning.

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