I dragged the Hubby and Little One out shopping today but it was a shopping spree of a different kind and not one to make the husband’s blood pressure rise. I was on a mission to load up on some shiny new gardening tools before Monday. I’ve never had much of a garden myself and always worked for other people so my meagre stash of tools was not going to cut the mustard as far as being self-employed goes. I spent an hour or so perusing the shelves and deciding on what brand of loppers or shears I should get. Should I get anvil or bypass? Yes, these are the sort of dilemma’s that have been flitting through my mind over the past few days…..that and why the Little One seems to be in between nappy sizes for far too long now (why isn’t there a 2.5 nappy size?!).
Once home I started digging out some of my older gardening implements to add to the collection and sat sharpening a couple of old pairs of secateurs on the sofa while the Little One and Hubby lay on the floor watching the football. It was then that it hit me; I’m really not your ordinary lass. Apart from those that I have come across through college and work, I don’t know many others that would forgo their girly time in order to mess about with sharp implements. However, there are also others that probably have a better track record than I do. One of my dad’s favourite stories about me is the one of me when I was about five years old. For some unknown reason to any of the family (including me) I thought it was a good idea to climb onto the bathroom countertop and delve into my dad’s side of the bathroom cabinet. It was at this point that my sister (3 ½ years older) watched, dumbfounded, while I tried to shave my top lip with an old fashioned, shiny and very sharp razor blade. Why? Well apparently I said something along the lines of “well daddy shaves so I thought I should too.” The shrieks (both of us) had my parents running to my rescue and our family friends who were arriving at the same moment found me on my dad’s knee, blood pouring from my top lip. Yes, clever me!
Shaving incidents aside, I do have a track record for being quite clumsy. I’ve had many a tumble in my time and find me a pond and I’ll probably manage to take a tumble in or around it. Find me a field with only one nettle in and I’ll manage to get myself stung. Give me a newly sharpened pair of secateurs and I’ll probably manage to snag a finger on them. So I may not be your ordinary lass but I am an extremely clumsy one. I really hope that the Little One hasnt inherited her mother’s clumsy genes! I think I’ll need more than luck when I venture off on my own on Monday.