According to dictionary.com, a galoot is a clumsy or uncouth person. This is a word I tend to associate with myself and I have plenty of scars to prove it.
My life’s history is packed full of spectacularly awkward moments. Once, I ran into an electrical outlet in our carport which protrudes from the wall. I wouldn’t say it was a menacing obstacle that threatened to maim me daily, but on the particular day I tried to take off my arm with it, I was being distracted by a wasp that was flying suspiciously close to my hair so I took off at a lumbering gait to gain access to the safety of my house when I slammed into the outlet.
I realize that the huge bruise on my arm probably hurt more and lasted longer than the sting of a wasp, but I have an intense dislike of flying bugs mixed with an irrational fear that one of these creatures could get caught in my hair. In my mind’s eye, I can visualize the alien insect expertly using my locks like Tarzan on a vine, swinging from side to side in an attempt to plant its stinger into each of my eyes which would swell shut and allow for more flying critters to attack me as I feebly thrash around on the ground.
I did say this was an irrational fear, right?
There are also certain shoe styles that play a significant role in some of my more maladroit moments. Flip-flops are probably the worst design because they lack even a hint of traction and, whenever I wear them in the rain, I know that I’m really just setting myself up for disaster.
When I lived in Washington State, I fell in front of a Target store while walking on what appeared to be level ground. I also slipped on the ice at Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic Mountains while holding our brand new camcorder. Being a bit of a professional at accelerated descents, I managed to spare the electronic device from any harm.
Though most of my klutzy accidents are brought about by objects lurking below my line of sight, such as the foot board of my bed, I have recently rediscovered the many possibilities that exist for unintentional burns.
Since I have a problem with cognitive thinking and depth perception early in the morning before my second cup of coffee, the toaster oven, stove top, and iron are constant hazards, but last week, a series of events fell into place that resulted a true galoot-worthy moment.
It started with bacon. Evidently, when one cooks bacon while their hair is still wet, that bacon smell infuses into their damp hair strands. I didn’t think about this until I was using my flat iron and noticed a residual bacon odor. I pulled some hair under my nose because I couldn’t fathom the possibility that my hair actually smelled like bacon.
When I did that, I noticed that my flat iron had an unidentifiable substance smeared on it. I knew it was some type of lotion or sunscreen and figured that a couple of days previous, I had put it in my travel bag before it had a chance to completely cool.
My next move was ridiculous even for me: I put the piping hot flat iron to my nose so I could smell which lotion was being forever heat-sealed on the device.
It is a week later and I still have a horizontal burn mark slashed across the tip of my nose. I called my friend, Amy, and broke the news to her that the title of “Dumbest Smart Person” was returning to its rightful owner. For some reason, she didn’t seem at all broken-hearted about it.
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