Butterfingers

You have butterfingers.

I am such a butterfingers. That’s the third drink I’ve spilled today.

[A]t every bad attempt at a catch, and every failure to stop the ball, he launched his personal displeasure at the head of the devoted individual in such denunciations as—"Ah, ah!—stupid"—"Now butter-fingers"—"Muff"—"Humbug"—and so forth—ejaculations which seemed to establish him in the opinion of all around, as a most excellent and undeniable judge of the whole art and mystery of the noble game of cricket.

“[…] Please don't handle them [birds’ eggs], Me! They are very fragile, and I would’nt^([sic – meaning wouldn’t]) lose them for anything.” / “I must hold them—just this once,” persists Me. “Don’t think I shall be such a butter[-]fingers as to break them. I’ve handled heaps of eggs before these!”

“I guess everyone’s got butterfingers around here,” Cole said with a sly smile. “Lucky for us, I’ve got fast reflexes.”

“That boy’s got butterfingers,” Connor went on. “That’s twice he’s dropped a tool. He’s got no place on a construction site.”