Mike Buzzelli is a stand-up comedian and published author. His book, "Below Average Genius" is a collection of essays culled from his weekly humor column here in the Observer-Reporter.

I will never be graceful. I’m quite the opposite; a klutz with a capital K. I hurry and scurry around too much, like a chipmunk searching for a walnut.

I gave up on being cool, calm and collected long ago. I’m warm, frantic and disheveled.

This week was bad.

It’s not unusual for me to have some sort of accident, incident or injury in a week. It’s unusual for me to have three in a span of three days. If my home was a factory the sign would say, “There have been zero days without an accident.”

I’m not proud of beating my record. My personal worst.

To say the first incident was a sports-related injury would be hyperbole. I was shooting pool with some friends. To be honest, we were knocking balls around with sticks. It was as far from a professional game of billiards as you can get. I can’t count how many times the balls left the table and rolled across the room.

Side note: If you’re not familiar with the game, that the brightly colored solid and striped balls are supposed to go into the pockets or strategically around the table to block your opponent. They are not supposed to roll around on the ground, or go flying into the air, destination unknown.

But I digress, like I do. I was aiming the cue stick at a ball and missed. I scraped skin off my finger instead. It’s still a mystery as to how I removed skin while shooting pool, but it happened, nonetheless.

My index finger is missing a few layers of epidermis, at the bendy part. Not the first bend by the fingernail, the second bend, near the lower part of my finger. I’m not sure what you call it, but I used to know my phalanges like the back of my hand.

The next day, I fell running up the stairs. Yes, up. Any idiot can fall down the stairs. Gravity is working against you. I, however, fell up. It’s much more challenging. The phone was ringing, and I rushed to retrieve it. Assuming it was someone important (it was not), I tripped on my way there, crashing into the stairs, planking, accordion style.

The very next day after that, I tried to shimmy into a pair of blue jeans without holding on to anything for support, like a dresser or a cabinet. That was a mistake. One of the pant legs was twisted as I tried to pull it up. I got one leg up and the other leg got stuck in a swirl of denim. I lost my balance and fell to the floor, face down into the carpet, butt in the air. I looked like a human speed bump. It’s not often I get rug burn on my face.

If you see me on the street, try to remember that these Band-Aids are real and not some weird fashion statement. Actually, cross to the other side, just to be safe.

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