Every day at lunch, I have chips and salsa. Not tortilla chips. Potato chips. I have individual bags of plain potato chips, which I enjoy with whatever lunch I make. The chips are easy to pick up and transport to my lair. I put the salsa in a plastic ramekin. As you might imagine, regular potato chips are not good for dipping in salsa. They break. For that reason, I take a spoon to eat my salsa. Don't judge!
Because I know that gravity, like technology, is not my friend...I pick up the ramekin and hold it near my chin area when I
Monday, I must have had a hole in my chin. That's what my grandpa used to say if one of us dropped something while eating. A single chunk of tomato, about the size of a pea, fell off my spoon.
Of course that diced tomato couldn't just land on my shirt. It skipped along like a record-breaking flat stone across a glass-smooth lake surface. Leaving a trail.
Sweet Gummi Mary! It looks like I got too close to Farmer H's threshold-tripping, skinned-up, near-tourniquet-requiring, side-porch arm.
4 comments:
Notice how this sort of thing always happens when you're wearing a nice light coloured shirt?
River,
Of course! That's why I have what I call my "casino uniform" for eating lunch at the casino. It's pink and dark pink plaid. Disguises most droppage that I can't get out with some drops of Diet Coke.
This one is just a house shirt. Lair-wear. It used to be in the regular work rotation, but over the years it's grown thinner under the arms, and started to pill along the lower front.
pilling can be removed with a single or twin blade shaver, just don't press too hard. I did it for years to keep the kids school uniforms looking neat. Can't do anything about underarm thinning though.
River,
I used to have a battery-operated gadget for shaving sweaters. This shirt is too far gone to mess with. I also have one with a purple stripe. They're just lair-wear. They've earned retirement from the regular rotation.
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