I've always been a bit of a menace in the kitchen. I mean, it's sort of written into the mathematical equation of my life:
small space + clumsy girl = (a lot of swearing) x (things breaking)
These days it's even worse, on account of one of my feet is swaddled in a 4lb surgical boot and I'm having to bump around with a cane. Oh, and the fact that apparently at some point while I was being operated on my center of gravity shifted from someplace relatively normal to, oh, I don't know, like my left kneecap. So I keep falling over backwards for no reason at all. That's awesome.
Look out: I'll take you down with me if you stand too close.
That said, I'm moving around better and getting more done than I really expected to. And, thankfully, it doesn't take two feet to brew a pot of coffee.
So that's been happening. A lot. I mean, even a lot for me. A lot more than usual. Just pot after pot after pot. It's almost out of control, now that you mention it. I almost need an intervention. But not yet. Just let me have this for a while.
Is that too much to ask?