What is it about a clean, pressed white blouse or shirt and colorful greasy food? There’s a magnetic attraction there, something that should be studied on NOVA or the Discovery channel. Whatever mystery defines the phenomenon, there’s no mystery regarding the demoralizing effect of baptizing the front of a brand new blouse or shirt with the spill de jour, which is usually red and infused with oils.
(An aside to the Red Hat Society: I’ve read the poem “When I am old, I shall wear Purple,” but I’m still convinced that you’ve chosen your colors because spills don’t show up on them.)
In attempt to make light of this tendency, my girlfriends and I started the first Spiller’s Anonymous Club. After the first spill at our communal table, the meeting would be called to order:
“Hi. I’m Pat, and I’m a Spiller.”
Chorus: “Hi, Pat.”
Following the AA format, we found it difficult to come up with twelve whole steps when it comes to spillage. We could attest to powerlessness when confronted by our spills, and we could also take inventory – “Look! Here. Here. And you have some there.” But we had difficulty coming up with a mission statement until we stumbled on the idea of adult bibs, bibs designed by Michael Kors and Vera Wang, bibs for every occasion, with Little Black Bibs to go with that Little Black Dress.
We even came up with a marketing slogan:
“Bibs. Not just for lobster anymore.”