Linda G. Hill has asked us to write about the word “spot” for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt. All I had to do was look down at my shirt to know what to write about.
I admit that I am a food slob. No, that’s not a typo. I meant food slob and not food snob. Food has a magnetic-like attraction to my shirts. Rarely am I able to complete a meal without leaving telltale signs of that meal on my clothing. I think I missed that day in school when they taught us how to maneuver a food-filled fork or spoon from a plate to the mouth without dropping something on one’s shirt.
My wife puts some sort of powerful spot remover on my shirts (or pants) to get rid of those food stains. Unfortunately, even after pre-treating my shirts with her miracle spot remover, many of my shirts come out of the washing machine with faded spots of carelessly dropped foods still visible.
It’s embarrassing to be having dinner with people (other than my wife, who has come to accept all the food spots on my shirts) when others spot my food stain spots.
But one of the very few good things about the coronavirus pandemic and having to stay at home, is that virtually all of my meals since early March have been at home, where only my wife is a witness to my unique ability to wear what I eat after nearly every meal.
I’m almost dreading the day when I’ll be permitted to go out and dine at a restaurant around other people. First of all, given the various food stains and spots on nearly all the shirts I currently own, I’ll have to buy some new ones to wear outside of my home.
Since I’m too old to wear a bib, I feel like I ought to be proactive and label my shirts in advance.