 |  |
 | the case of the unfortunate shirt |
There was a time when wearing a black shirt would have seemed like a good idea. It would go with everything! Even be slimming, maybe. And the color was so forgiving—willing to hide the occasional splash of coffee or spot of ink. Gone are the days, I tell you. Gone are the days.
Six months ago, wearing a black top would have been an invitation to the baby: Spit up on me! Today, I am fairly certain it calls to my children: Wipe your nose on my sleeve! Smear oatmeal on me! Spill paste here! Yes, clothing speaks in a frequency inaudible to adult ears, but my children, they hear it. They hear it well.
I don’t even know what this gunk is on my shoulder. I think I don’t want to know. I do know that I can see it, so I’m thinking it’s time to change the shirt. Possibly it is time to take a shower. And to invent a more crud-resistant color.
Beige is the new black, my friend. Or variegated patterns, even better.
I just try to dress as much like a couch as possible, to minimize stains. I’ve already got the upholstery to pad it…
I’m still hanging on to all my grease spot stained solid color t-shirts until I’m SURE the boy isn’t grungy anymore. It doesn’t look like I’ll be buying new t-shirts for a while.
tricky to find exactly the right shade of puke. you have to have at least one carrot coloured shirt though.