I am a hooker

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I have come to realize, after long and extensive practice, that I am one of those people known as a hooker. I hook onto everything that extends more than one quarter inch from a wall or corner or piece of furniture.

It is a joke in my family. 'Ha, ha, ha...Mom just got hooked (or snagged or caught) on ___'. Then the disbelieving guffaws, while I am trying to wrest my clothing or purse strap or pocket off of the offending claw of doom.

I regularly get my purse strap caught on things. I have gotten yanked to a painful stop by back pockets on tight jeans! And the things that catch me up are usually insignificant bumps on the terrain of life, like cupboard handles, door knobs, appliance handles, hand rails, or even textured walls, for cryin' out loud.

I wonder if I walk too closely to stuff, or if I subconsciously swerve into things, like some drivers swerve slightly at oncoming traffic. Whatever it is, I am tired of the sudden stops, the wrenched muscles, the public disbelief and derision. It is not easy being a hooker.