Ignore that spot on the ceiling
This column originally appeared in the Odessa American newspaper June 11, 2017. It appears here by permission of the newspaper. The text of this column appears as it originally did 3 years ago, but I have taken the liberty of adding a few visual aids and clarifying comments.
With everything else going on in the world you probably did not realize it, but June 13th is the annual recognition of National Kitchen Klutzes of America Day. [Note from 2020: Since this falls on the 13th of June it will be on Friday this year] Most of you had plans this Tuesday that ignored this important day, but now that you know you can adjust your schedule accordingly.
I desperately wanted to find the originators of this wonderful day of recognition because I had some serious questions. Is it significant that the next day is National Bourbon Day? I would have assumed that National Bourbon Day would be the same day, or possibly the day before National Kitchen Klutzes of America Day. Are there actual qualifications, such as emergency room receipts, to be considered a “Kitchen Klutz,” or is it more of a self-appointed designation? In 2017 this significant day of recognition happens to coincide with National Call Your Doctor Day, is this as important as it seems?
Alas, despite hours of research online—and by hours I mean way over 7 minutes—I was unable to track down much in the way of background information about National Kitchen Klutzes of America Day or its founders. Which brings me to the real point of today’s column - occasionally there are moments in life that come back to haunt you.
When I was a child there was this time that my mom was bringing some condiments to the dining room table. One of the items was a jar of mustard with the lid off. Somehow—and I’m a little fuzzy on the details of exactly how—the jar of mustard slipped from her hands and landed on the table. The amazing thing was that the jar landed straight up. No mustard spilled on the table, but somehow a small missile of mustard shot straight up to the ceiling. Despites out best cleaning efforts for the rest of my childhood there was a nickel-sized mustard stain on the dining room ceiling. I may or may not have teased my mom about this mercilessly.
A few years ago I was in the kitchen of my home when I somehow—I’m a little fuzzy on the details—managed to cause a can of Dr. Pepper to explode in a manner resembling a movie scene where someone strikes oil. By the time the detonation was over America’s best soft drink was on the wall, the counter, and yes, even the ceiling. I cleaned up the terrific mess, and then called my mom to tell her that I figured it was time to shut up about the mustard on the ceiling.
If you need me on National Kitchen Klutzes Day I’ll probably be eating supper with my mom. At a restaurant, as far away from a kitchen as possible.