Personality flaw or just bad luck?

It was my last day in London, and I was on my way to the airport to head to Paris for the study abroad, the summer after my junior year in college. I had my rolling suitcase, plus a backpack and my usual heavy purse.

I entered the train car, brought all my crap over to a seat, and was bending down to sit. The train then began moving, giving that lurch that trains do. I hadn't actually sat yet, and the lurch caused me to lose my balance. That and the backpack on my back propelled me sideways, onto the lap of the poor citizen on the next seat. I started to apologize, when the backpack kept propelling me onwards, this time toward the floor. I landed on all fours, when the stupid pack moved up my back, finally plopping me in an honest-to-goodness face plant, on the floor of the subway car.

I lay there stunned for a moment, then began to laugh. What a ridiculous predicament! The Londonites surrounding me quickly piped up with concern, asking me if I was alright. Laughing, sighing, shaking my head with incredulity, I said that I was fine. Blushing, still shaking my head, I stood up, dusted myself off, and finally got my butt into a seat. What an idiot I was!

--

Fast forward about five years. I'm cleaning my room, really cleaning it, for the first time since my mom was out here at Christmas. Taking all the crap off the floor, moving the mini furniture out into the hall to clear it for vacuuming.

Once I have all the movable things out and the floor clear of debris, I fetch the vacuum from the hall closet. As I bring it into my room, some side bit on the vacuum catches on the wee plastic shelf unit crammed into the corner, only about a foot away from another corner. Like this:

Well, you can imagine where this is going.

The vacuum caught on the shelf. I tried to wiggle it free and step over it at the same time. Since there's not much room right there, my foot also caught on the fucking vacuum cleaner. I flailed for a moment, then crashed onto the floor.


And now I have a battle scar on my leg to show for my utter stupid clumsiness: One big scratch, one little scratch, and a third scratch/quarter-sized bruise.



Only me, my friends. Only me. Some excellent combination of a personality/physical flaw, and plain bad luck. And/or just being a fucking idiot.
Sigh.


At least my room is now clean; I've got something to show for my lamest of lame injuries!