give up! From now on I’m going to wear a bib. It is yet another step in my reverse evolvement from functioning adult to infant. I first noticed the return trip when I finally noticed that I used the handrail when traversing a set of stairs. Then, came the purchase of a girl’s bike, making it easier to get on and off. A refrigerator door decorated with dozens of sticky-notes confirmed my decline. But that spaghetti dinner, with half of the sauce ending up on my off-white, sweater moved me to this new low. A BIB!
For years I’ve sported a spot or two on my clothes: coffee drips, chip dip drops, mustard, ketchup. That sort of thing. I could usually remedy the situation by grabbing an old toothbrush and going to town on the stain. But, my spaghetti sauce stained sweater did me in. A toothbrush and detergent routine wouldn’t resolve the issue. I had to send it to a professional dry cleaner.
It’s my favorite sweater too. I bought it at the Champion Outlet Store on upper Front Street in Binghamton in 1984. The store is long gone, but the sweater has held up all these years. I only wear it every few months, but I take comfort knowing it is there in the bottom of the sweater drawer, waiting for an outing. Most of us have some, feel-good clothing items. That sweater is my favorite, though I have a few back up choices too. They are all younger than that off-white Champion, crew neck. Not a lot younger, but not quite that old.
So, to avoid whispered comments like, “Look at that old guy with all those stains on his clothes,” I’m using a bib. I tried out a napkin, tucked into my shirt collar, but it didn’t give enough coverage. I dribbled past it. When I tried the adult placement, and laid it on my lap, I dribbled high. A full bib is the only answer. But, adult bibs are hard to find. I think I need something like the bibs they hand out at lobster pounds, with a picture of a lobster decorating the center. It not only will make me look more respectable than an old coot wearing a multi-stained shirt, but will also improve my image, showing me to be a high roller, shelling out for expensive lobster dinners. I just hope they don’t notice that I’m eating a tuna fish sandwich.
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