He spends the better part of his idle time just watching her. Watching her breathe, watching her talk, watching her live. And she is completely unaware.
She thinks he's clumsy because he routinely forgets to pay attention to what he's doing because she's so damn distracting. How is he supposed to focus on making repairs when her hot pink toes are propped up so close to his face he can smell the polish? How is he supposed to realize that the fact that the wall is getting closer means he will in fact run into it when he's preoccupied with watching the way she walks? How is he supposed to remember to breathe when he's busy making sure she hasn't stopped?
So he hammers his fingers and he runs into walls and he nearly suffocates, all for the sake of observation. All because she's within his range of vision. Or hearing. Or smelling. And it only gets worse when she's close enough to touch because that means she's close enough to taste. Which he finds very hard to resist.
Because she's all lovely and pink and yellow and good-smelling and prattling on about nothing and it's all he can do not to shut her up himself. Creatively. In a way that would shock her into silence if nothing else.
But he keeps his distance. Because really, if he's running into walls now, the addition of a fifth, particularly distracting sense could only make things decidedly worse.