Oneshots by worldoftom [t.h. x female]

Klutz Your Way To Good Luck

Summary: You're just going to the movies with your best friend. What could go wrong?

Words: 7.2k

Warnings: general fluff, clumsiness, spilling of drinks and snacks, cursing; short mentions of close relatives who have passed away, but nothing descriptive

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Today is not one of your days.

First, you sleep through your alarm longer than you usually did, so you have to rush through your morning routine and end up stepping out of the house in fluffy socks, getting them all wet because it rained the whole night.

At work, you almost break the coffee vending machine because it served you half the usual amount of coffee. Since not enough caffeine is never an option, you indulge yourself by walking to the nearby coffee house during your lunch hour to at least get a decent cup before you carry on with your day, but the barista totally misunderstands your order. You try to get the right one for free, given that it was her mistake, but the order she registered in the system actually matches the one you're holding, so it's a lost cause. This only means you end up forcing yourself to drink something you hate because paying three times for coffee is a luxury you cannot afford.

Back home, after a few necessary chores, you sink into the couch for a while, head tilted back and your eyes closed, then hop into the shower. You use the good-smelling, way too expensive, premium quality shower gel you bought cautiously, the one you save for when you really need to treat yourself. In the end, you walk by the other bedroom of the house, the muffled yapping from your roommate in the background, carefully weighing every step as to avoid any more mishaps, until you make it safely to your closet.

Except now you can't find the blouse you wanted to wear tonight. It's the wine red one with the drapey effect that makes it fall loosely on your hips. You wanted it because you're going to the movies with your best friend Angela and afterwards, you're going out since it's Friday. Not to mention that you feel good in it and feel like it really compliments your shape.

After you find it in your roommate's laundry – something that happens a lot and you're going to have a conversation with her this weekend or else – you put it on and let Angela know you're ready. She's picking you up, but lives about 20 minutes away, so you send her a text on your way to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

Your hair now done and looking shiny but not too slick, your face properly made up with your favorite shades, you check your phone when it vibrates on the little shelf on the bottom of the mirror. Angela.

At the door, her text says.

You type in a quick Okay, but you miscalculate something and the phone drops in the semi-wet sink. And of course it falls screen-down on the marble. There's a brand-new crack on the top left corner to match the larger crack on the top right corner from a couple of months ago, but it seems to work, so you move on with barely a shrug. Your phone's used to it, anyway, be it from being dropped on the floor or banging against the furniture when you have it in your bag, even from dropping on your face when you're scrolling through Instagram late at night.

With one sharp breath in, you ask yourself if there's anything missing. You have your cute outfit, you have your purse and your lucky pendant around your neck, so you get out of the house with your head held high as if nothing had happened today.

Of course you trip on the curb because you're trying not to laugh at Angela, who is tapping her wrist as if she had a watch.

"Fucking hell," you mutter under your breath, checking if your mid heel boots are still safe to go out. Everything looks sturdy enough, so you look around to make sure nobody witnessed that, finding Mrs. Robinson at the window. As per usual. "Hello, Mrs. Robinson. How're you doing?"