Frosted Mini Wheats and Flat Irons...

Do not mix well.
Some background:
First of all, I never thought of myself as clumsy. Neither of my highly observant parents ever called me that when I was young, and it's not on the longish list of derogatory terms used for the better part of my childhood by my older brother. In fact, the possibility never actually occurred to me. That is, until the day I fell up an escalator, frantically scraping and clawing against at least 3 laws of physics to reach the top as my brother, Chad, fought back snorts while hopelessly trying to get me to "just give up and let it take [me] down" (only to realize that I really did in fact need to go down the metal deathtrap in order to get to the airport terminal that was my destination). Later that day I banged my head getting into my little red Tercel. As I rubbed my fast-growing goose-egg Chad looked at me with that look that only a brother knows and said, "Al, I never thought of it until now...but you're kind of clumsy!"

So, either I've been a walking, talking, head-banging self-fulfilling prophecy ever since that day, or I was in denial until then...maybe I'll take a poll.

Second, I have never been a punctual person. I get praised for being at work by 8:15. My boss just assumes I'll be in sometime before 8:30 and will make up the time at the end of the day. And I don't think I've ever been ready for a date on time. My boyfriend, Josh, calls this regularly occurring experience the "LA Story" effect.

You look so ready that I get ready
and I get up and stand by the door,
and I stand there for minutes
until I realize you aren't ready.
So, I sit back down.
Then, I think you're ready again.
But I realize you just gave off
an illusion of being ready that I
interpreted as not being an illusion.
I'll be in the car.

It's not usually that bad. But we sure got a kick out of this scene. His normal wait time is about 5 minutes. Actually I think I'm about 5 minutes late for just about everything.

So, in an effort to not be late to work every day, I eat my breakfast as I go. Sometimes in the car, sometimes while reading my scriptures, and sometimes while doing my hair. The latter was pick of the day today. I had 20 minutes to finish straightening my hair, eating my cereal, get dressed, brush my teeth and be at work. It may seem impossible, but I had it covered: 10 mins for hair/cereal. 2 mins to throw on some clothes. 7 mins to drive. 1 to brush at work. I was actually going to be right on time! And then I took that fateful bite. As I went to put the bowl back down on the counter, it flew out of my hands, spraying all over the bathroom, landing face-down on my flat iron.
It was a rough morning. I felt pretty lame for not being able to hold on to a cereal bowl (I use plastic for this very reason). Needless to say, I did not make it in 20, (it was more like 25) but my iron did survive the swim! With only a few searing burns to the fingers, I was able to scrub off the milk and Mini Wheats before those tiny, smelly bits could become a permanent addition to my most-used styler.

Thus the Lesson: Frosted Mini Wheats and Flat Irons do not mix.