I was explaining to my friend Marie how I acquired the large bruise on my left shin.

“I was walking in my living room when I slipped and whacked my leg on a footstool.” I reached down to rub the growing purple bump on my shin. “It really hurt. A lot.”

“You should write about that,” Marie said.

“Write about how I hurt myself walking? Why?”

“Because it’s funny.”

Of course. My ability to injure myself while doing seemingly normal activities must be a source of humor for everyone around me.

Like the time I broke my wrist roller skating. No, I didn’t fall. I was trying to exit the skating rink and instead of going down the ramp I ran smack into the wall.

Then there was that time when I was working at the bank and my manager slammed the cash vault door on my hand. One minute I’m counting stacks of twenties, and the next a hundred pound slab of iron is almost chopping off my finger.

I once went for a walk and came home with a mosquito trapped in my ear canal (which, by the way, amplifies the buzzing about tenfold). And there was that time I went swimming and split my chin open on a picnic table. (Don’t ask.)

And it’s not just physical injuries, either. I’m pretty clueless in a general sense.

I went to the movies one night and when I left the theater it was dark, cold and snowing pretty hard. I started the car, cranked up the heat and set about cleaning the snow from the windshield only to realize when I was finished that I’d locked myself out of the car and left the engine running.

I once asked a woman when her baby was due only to find out she wasn’t pregnant. I’ve talked about people behind their backs while they were still within earshot. Sometimes I get so tongue-tied during interviews I’m sure people think my I.Q. is lower than a chicken wing.

Maybe it is.

Remember when I was working at my desk and the leg of my metal folding chair sliced through the power cord for my printer, shorting out the computer and leaving a big scorch mark on the floor? I’m probably the only person in history who almost electrocuted herself writing.

The fortunate thing is that I’ve learned a few things from my mistakes.

First, never leave the house unless under mandatory evacuation orders, which often come in the form of a question from your spouse like, “Are you going grocery shopping this month?”

Second, don’t speak unless you have something really important to say, like, “The dog is on fire!” or “Help! The cat is stuck in the washing machine!”

And last, stay away from dangerous household items like wooden footstools, butter knifes, Q-Tips, and curling irons.

And you’d better watch out for staplers, paper clips and duck tape. Those office supplies can be hazardous to your health.

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