My clumsiness is legendary. Everyone in the family knows it's better to just stay out of the kitchen when I am in there. A serving of coffee guarantees a ring of sugar on the counter after my mug has been lifted. The wall under the counter area where I pour beverages has more layers of paint than Tammy Faye Baker's face.
My husband cringes when I pick up a knife and cannot stop himself from warning "you're gonna' cut yourself...!" until I am bleeding.
Only the dog celebrates my disabilities. I didn't realize this for a long time as he doesn't cheer me on or anything, but a few days ago I couldn't find him anywhere in the house, until I uttered the famous "oops!" He appeared instanty, out of nowhere, sniffing the floor for my latest catastrophe.
As an experiment I tried saying "Uh oh!" - no response from the sleeping canine. How about "Aw shoot"... not the same thing. But an "Ooops," even whispered, brings that mutt to life like Lazarus from the dead.
Yesterday, he snarfed up a frozen chickent nugget and took it to his happy place under my dining room chair, without it ever hitting the floor. My son tattled "Beau's eating chicken popsicles now?"
At least someone appreciates me!