I have the natural grace of a single cherry blossom floating into a still pond. I am cool and collected and can do everything backwards in high heels.
But in reality, I trip on absolutely nothing, get caught in baling twine and end up bleeding.
Confession: I’m sort of hoping that it scars, because then I’ll have a scar on one ankle from when I dropped a power drill on my foot when I was twelve, and I’ll have another one that may or may not look like bondage gone wrong, but is really from a freak farming accident in rural Louisiana, and really my feet will just look like I lead a truly interesting life. (…The rest of me also looks like I lead an interesting life. Mostly because I do.)
In other news, today I learned that Aloe has joined the ranks of kiwi’s and bagpipes as “Things that secretly have about two hundred different variations”. (My favourite type of bagpipe is the Galician Gaita. It’s pretty much just a whole goat that people turned into a bagpipe. People are *Awesome*.)
The moral of the story: There are many types of aloe plant. None of them taste very good.