Hipocrite, Misspelling Intended

One of my biggest pet peeves is seeing somebody driving a small car, and yet when they go to make a turn they weave out to the opposite side first like they're turning a semi. However, I find I have the opposite problem with my own coordination... just with my own person. Instead of overcompensating and giving myself plenty of room, I toss my body around without knowing my perimeters. I'm over twenty-five years old and I yet I still haven't gotten used to my post-puberty body. I say this because once again, I have a nice big bruise on my hip from a miscalculation of my own dimensions.

The hip bruises happen like this: I will get on my hands and knees under my desk at work, and in getting out from under, will have my feet and knees lined up for a clear take off trajectory to stand next to my desk. However, upon pushing myself up I will violently stub the outermost part of my hip on the desk. One time I even caught the bony part under the very edge, scraping along the desk at high speed and leaving one of the largest, darkest bruises I've ever had. It's like I haven't learned to take new curvatures into account and I'm constantly slamming my extra bits into things.

Just a couple of weeks ago at the creepy bar my friend and I sometimes patronize, I went to resume sitting in the awful lawn chair on the deck that I had claimed. It had rigid arms on it, and despite the actual seat being a good two feet wide, naturally I slammed the outermost corner of my ass into the arm, rocking the whole chair sideways and eliciting ALL the drunk jokes. Nobody asked about the condition of my ass, but then there's rarely a solitary gentleman in the joint.

But it's not just that I have an uncoordinated butt. I've also wiped my boobs across many a doorframe, offering a feel to all kinds of trims and finishes. Reaching into the back seat of my car, I've clumsily squished them against passengers. Luckily, I don't let strangers into my cars so it's easily laughed off. Not so easily laughed off, for me, was the time I went to stand up from a table on a second or third date and jostled a glass of beer with my boob, and since I had been drinking beer I had the absence of mind to pull a horrified face and grab the offending boob like I was a modern, edgy Lucille Ball. Luckily some kinds of asshattery can be endearing.

The point of this post is something about not judging people. Some people might have poor coordination with their cars, but I have poor coordination with my various protrusions. 

And poor tit-coordination is way more shameful than driving your old Honda Civic like a stretch limo.