I break things. The handle off my favorite coffee mug. The zipper of my fancy purse. I have broken the hearts of people who care about me.
Just last week, while finishing a cup of sleepy tea, I knocked the teapot with my mug. Tink! I looked down and the tip of the spout was missing. It wasn’t on the counter top, nor could I find it on the floor. I got out the flashlight and looked under the stove and cabinets but couldn’t find the tip anywhere. Without the broken piece, I could not repair the spout.
The teapot was one my husband had purchased years ago while traveling, and is a pretty thing—cobalt blue with lithe golden irises painted on the side. My husband who is exacting and careful in all things. Always. I thanked all the powers under the stars that it wasn’t one of the much older teapots he’d inherited from his grandfather.
For several days I hid the break by turning the pot so that the missing tip wasn’t obvious, and cursed myself for not being more careful.
Continue reading at https://reckonreview.com/the-curse-of-clumsy/
