Morning Tea-bacle

Some people should never be allowed to meddle with hot liquids and fragile ceramic vessels.  Grace has never been my strong point.  Chalk it up to a father who celebrated klutziness.  Some kids seek their fathers' approval by joining the football team or going to med school.  I did it by falling off a diving board and running full speed into a oak tree during a game of "ding dong ditch."  

I've had many klutzy moments, but the sheer physical perfection of today's mishap calls for special recognition.  Yesterday a friend told me she'd gotten up early, made coffee and got back in bed with her cup and a book.  That sounded so cozy and relaxing that I vowed to spend my Sunday morning the same way.  I made a couple pots of dian hong and crawled back in bed with a cup, a pitcher and The New Yorker.  Five minutes into my attempt at leisure I spilled an entire cup of (still quite hot) tea on my chest.  I removed my soaked shirt, scooted away from the puddle on the bed and re-opened the magazine, determined to wring some enjoyment out of the morning.  Then I heard a friend talking to a neighbor in the front yard and leaped out of bed to talk to him.  In the process I managed to kick my re-filled cup, which I'd placed on the floor next to the half-full pitcher of tea.  The cup, which I kicked with my left foot, rammed into the pitcher and shattered and then sailed into the back of my right ankle.  Tea and shards, and soon blood, everywhere.  

 
Please excuse the gore.  That was the end of my cozy morning.  If you can top that, I want to know about it.