Despite my repetition of the same sentence THREE whole times in yesterday's post, I feel some people still do not believe me about how clumsy I truly am. So today I have decided that once more I will offer (almost) factual evidence of a true story that took place in my childhood. Only difference (drum role) this instance couples my clumsiness with the clumsiness of another guy.
When I was five years old, Mother got a job teaching at my school. I loved it for two reasons. First, with her working at the same place as I went to school, even as a five-year-old I knew this meant I would get to see her every day at lunch. Second, this meant that every day after school I would get a chance to play with the other teachers' kids before Mother got off work. There was one particular kid that I really enjoyed getting to play with on a daily basis. Do not ask me his name because I could not tell you it if I had fifteen semi-automatic gun-like objects aimed directly at my manhood. Since I can't remember his name - and for purposes of smooth reading he needs a name - we will forever refer to him as Conner.
