The clumsiest fucking week of my life

This week was the clumsiest fucking week of my life. Let me break it down for you, bit by excruciating bit:

Great on your nails, not on your carpet.

Thursday: I'm lying on the couch, painting my nails the brightest fucking 80s blue you can possibly imagine. I get too comfortable, reach over to the coffee table to do a one-handed brush dip, when the bottle dives off of the table like Greg Louganis, flips three times and lands in two blue puddles on our beige carpet. I slow panic, quickly Google "How to get nail polish out of carpet", run for the ShamWows and Totally Awesome Carpet Cleaner. A quick prayer and lots of scrubbing later, I managed to get the carpet clean.

Friday: K comes home from work and we decide to have a few beers. I'm lying on the couch in the same place I was when I was painting my nails, we're watching a very intense end of Season 8 episode of X Files in which Scully is trying to save her alien baby from being abducted, I reach for my beer and it (naturally) leaps onto the carpet in the EXACT same spot that the nail polish was in. (It's like rain on your wedding day, yes?)

Miracle cleaner from Jesus.

Saturday: Driving down to my sister's engagement party, K and I stop at Subway for some noms after a long conversation during which we vow not to eat McDonalds and drink beer in the same day ever again. We get in the car and bring our pop with us, tucking it into the poorly designed cupholders of the 2000 Ford Focus. I go to hand the pop to K, he butterfingers it, and I drop the cup and its entire contents onto his white sweatshirt and jeans.

Truly, it's a wonder that I made it out alive.