Defective Eyelash Curlers and other Fiascos

When someone asks , "What is so and so like?" there are normally three to four descriptors given to the question asker. If someone asked what I was like, I feel like I could imagine what the description might consist of.

"Oh, Jess? Well, Jess works for Young Life, is married to Peter, believes that life is a musical, and is really, seriously accident prone."

If such descriptions had been given, they would be correct, in reference particularly to the last one. I am SO accident prone. It started early on in life with the usual bouts of falling down, scraping knees, etc. Then, at the tender age of 8, the freak accidents began. Somehow, while playing on the monkey bars at school, the bar broke, I fell, and ended up with 16 stitches in my tongue. After that, there was a series of broken noses, whose catalysts ranged from gymnastics equipment to a run in with a tennis racket.

One would imagine that after the awkwardness of the growing stages of life ended that, perhaps, the frequency of accidents would subside...not so with me. In college, I managed to both fall down a waterfall (Laurel Falls to be exact) and dislocate my shoulder while transitioning from the running man into the roger rabbit (both are popular 90's dance moves often practiced by MC Hammer and the Fresh Prince). After the initial dislocation of the shoulder, I discovered that I had actually torn a ligament in my shoulder and proceeded to undergo shoulder surgery.

More recently, my incidents have mostly consisted of banging my head on things (once my head actually collided with HoneyBear, my dog's, noggin--that one took talent). Then of course there is the incident of face planting dramatically in the middle of the street in London, landing in the fetal position, and hearing British people walk by and say, "Awe poor thing," as they stepped over me. Perhaps while you are reading this blog you are thinking to yourself that there cannot possible be more...but this morning, my accident prone-ness reached a new level.

I was standing in our tiny, little blue bathroom, getting ready for the day, and putting on a little bit of makeup. I was almost finished when I remembered I needed to put on some mascara, and what comes before the mascara? The eyelash curler of course. Now some men might think that an eyelash curler looks like some kind of medieval torture device, but we ladies know it is an essential part of the beauty regimen. I had already curled the right eye and applied the mascara--no problem. Then, as I begin to clamp the curler down on the lashes of my left eye, I hear a snap then feel this sharp pain directly below my left eye. The eyelash curler had actually snapped and the spring slung around and whapped me in the face.

Peter, we may need to look again at my life insurance policy...apparently the world is out to get me. OY!