White shirts

I love white shirts. Especially new, white tee-shirts. I think a bright, white shirt is just the perfect complement to so many outfits. It looks clean. It looks summery. Throw on a black blazer and heels and I can go out pretty much anywhere. It's a classic look worn by men such as James Dean and by Travolta portraying Danny Zuko in Grease. Even the glamorous Marilyn Monroe was photographed wearing jeans and a white shirt. So it's a good look and I like it.

For as much as I love white shirts though, I cannot keep them clean. I probably have ten white shirts hanging in my closet that are no longer perfectly white. I end up saving them to use for gardening and painting because they're usually too new to even think about tossing out. I have even taken to buying them two or three at a time when I find them on sale at places like Old Navy and Target.

The main thing that seems to happen to my pristine white shirts is that I have issues with food. I don't know if I'm an excessively messy eater or if I just have really bad luck, but I cannot keep food off my white shirts. And because I'm not a member of the "A Team", everything that falls tends to land in a prominent and obvious location. Which, I have to say, probably cuts down on the leering substantially. Because most men don't seem to have a desire to continue staring once they've noted the dribbled food and summarily classified me as "special".

Lately, I've really been trying to keep my white shirts clean through various means. I have gone so far as to start tying a dish towel around my neck when I eat. This works fairly well most of the time, but obviously only when I'm at home. I try to portray myself in a little more mature light when I eat out in public. Not that you'd know that just by looking at me. When in public, I try to be more conscious of getting my food all the way to my mouth. Which is somewhat effective but falls short when I'm launching into some intricate story line that requires gesticulation to add pizazz.

Anyway, while at dinner with A on Sunday I managed to ruin my second to last new white shirt by dribbling ranch dressing down it. One would think that white on white wouldn't stain. Unfortunately ranch dressing is primarily fat (mmmmm, fat!) and it left a lovely oil spot on the shirt. So now I'm down to one nice white shirt. Which I wore today while out and about with Mamoo looking at houses. We stopped for lunch at Coco's and I ordered the french toast and coffee. I am very proud to say that I did not spill one drop of my food on my shirt.

As we were driving away from lunch however, I looked down and noticed a bluish/purple spot on my pristine shirt. You guys, it was the blueberry topping from my mother's pancakes. Are you kidding me? I don't even want to know how in the hell I got her food on my right breast. I got nothing. I am just at a complete loss for a reasonable explanation for this. Guess I'll stop by Old Navy and see if white tee-shirts are on sale tomorrow.