Did You Spill Food on Your Shirt?
Funny how when you spill food down your shirt it’s kind of silly. Completely inconvenient of course.
But it might also be amusing. And if you can laugh it off, you might even consider it ‘cute.’
So what happens when someone else spills food down their front?
Now we’re talking gross.
Spilling food on their clothes isn’t even remotely appealing. It’s just yuck! And it’s the kind of stuff that gives you a quick wave of disgust. Which is why people who spill their dinner deserve to be social outcasts.
That’ll teach them to eat properly.
Nobody wants to hang around with that person with telltale track marks of food down their front. Even walking around with them makes you feel like it’s rubbing off on you.
Like maybe it’s contagious.
People get banished for that. Sent out to the desert. Left wandering in circles under the deliriously hot sun. With nothing but food spots on their shirtfront for nourishment.
Of course, those of us who admit to this awful activity try hard to deny it. By saying it was an “accident.”
Or, quickly pipe up, “Oh, I’ve never done that before” (not counting the 9000 other times they spattered their ever lovin’ spoonfuls around the place).
Or, “Hey, did you make me spill my dinner down my top? Thanks a lot.”
But there’s no denying it. Because the remnants of such awkward behaviour is written all over your clothes.
And of course, as far as everyone else if concerned it’s gross. Unless of course, you’re under five. Then, everyone accepts that little kids throw food everywhere. Because in the food storm process they actually swallow some too.
Besides, they have an ace card up their grubby sleeve. Usually, they’re cute.
Personally, I, like the best of them try and deny it. Then laugh it off, like it’s some big joke.
Only, it’s not.
But if I try being scientific, I figure there must be a reason to get food droppers off the hook. A crummy hand to eye coordination thing? Brain frying? Or, just being too keen (or too lazy) to take care.
Let’s see… I pick hand to eye coordination. That’s the reason some of the food on my fork jumps off.
Like it’s trying to escape on the way from the plate.
I’d argue that it’s minor matter. Less than 0.1%. Only there’s a big bright curry stain on the middle of my shirt to contradict that. So, it’s not something I can explain or blame away.
Which is a pain.
Reckon I need a bib. Or a tea towel. Or, a tablecloth tied to my collar.
Nobody will take pity if I say it was the spaghetti. Or an over thin watery soup. Or, as it was in this case, an over-excited curry.
There’s no sympathy for the spattering crab, or the tiny fragments of wafer scattered around my plate.
Nope, it’s just gross. And nobody wants to put up with that.
So, I get to spend time wandering in circles under the hot, hot sun. Just me and that dratted curry splash for company.
I try hard as I can to avoid foods that flick. Meaning I try stepping away from dishes that spatter or splatter. And I give a wide berth to stuff that’s crumbly.
Because, I know for sure, it’s going down my front, under the seat, and anywhere else that puts me at the scene of the food-spilling frame.
Try as I might to shake the prison cell bars and shout, “But I’m innocent! You gotta believe me!” it’s no use. Telltale food fragments, splotches, and drips do a nasty little CSI number on me. Proving without a shadow of a doubt… it was me.
So I’ve been framed. Just guilty. Of a shocking case of food spilling in the first degree. And I have the shirt to prove it.