My dad always told me I was a bull in a china shop. I knew what he meant, but I always took advantage of his thick midwestern accent to play the confused child.
“A bowl in a china shop? Shouldn’t there be bowls in china shops?”
From this small glimpse into my life you should have learned the following two pieces of information: (1) I’m a sarcastic smart ass; and, (2) I’m clumsy (if my own father calls me a bull in a china shop, then that says something).
Honestly, you could know just these two pieces of information about me and know more about me than you might want to admit or recognize. I am the clumsiest person I know and I am close to the most sarcastic person you know (I give credit where credit is due).
So when I say “Perfectly Cursed Life” I don’t mean that in a totally bad way. I’ve been cursed with good things–the ability to spot a misused apostrophe, a knack to spot a subtle plot twist miles away, an unending desire to over analyze the simple things. These are survival mechanisms and I’ve been blessed. My blessings just happen to be double-edged swords. The corollaries: an inability to get past mechanics to substance, the sure-fire way to piss a movie-going companion off before and after a film, a constant bad habit of going too far.
So yes, I’m cursed. But I’ll take cursed for a test drive around the block and still buy it any day of the week. At least I’m not blessed.
A Perfectly Cursed Life 