Is Murphy also a klutz?

We have well established that Ladies Home Journal will never give me their stamp of approval for home cleanliness. Having a black cat emerge from under the bed covered in gray dust balls might be their first clue, or the dirty clothes overflowing the laundry basket and creeping ever closer to taking up residence in the hallway. While most of the house has hard wood floors or tile, the stairs are still carpeted and I would bet right now there is enough fur to knit sweaters for both my beasties for the coming winter.

Well, there is a second substantiated rule in this house. When I do make a stab at cleanliness, Murphy steps in with his finest fastidious proposition and all hell breaks loose. So yesterday, a mere twenty-four hours after I scrubbed the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, I was in the pantry looking for some chips to go with my ham on rye. There on the top shelf, crunched under some Tostidos and a can of pistachio nuts, was the low fat Ruffles bag or what remained in it. I carefully moved the other bags of cellulite producing goodness and eased the bag off the shelf, but not before an entire bottle of Marsala wine did a triple gainer with a half twist and propelled itself onto my white tile floor. The crash froze me until I dared to look at the aftermath. The only shards of glass bigger than an kernel of corn where those still stuck to the label. Otherwise the sticky sweet amber colored liquid was spattered from one corner of the kitchen to the other with glass embedded everywhere including my left foot . . . tiny rivulets of red marking each piece. Gah!

I set about mopping, wiping, absorbing, patting, toweling and generally trying to clean up the sparkly goop. Mission finally accomplished . . . the floor is once again swabbed.

So is it my innate klutziness or Murphy living in my back pocket? Either way, I wish it would stop before the house is condemned . . . thankyouverymuch.