When it comes to food, some fashions just don't match.
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I'm thinking anything white in particular.
Could be a shirt, pants, dress, toga, sari, shorts, you name it.
Just so long as it gleams in the sunlight and you're devastated when you ruin it.
Eating a spaghetti, say, and maybe there's a utensil malfunction, or a devilish pasta flick, or lack of oral vigilance mid-sentence.
Next thing - blip - you've got a vibrant laundry challenge running down your Sunday best, suggesting words like 'bib'.
Sending a message that you may have an eating problem.
As in struggling to get food in your mouth.
Or a fashion crisis.
As in, how much bleach will it take to make that vanish?
Darker colours would have covered it up so much better.
But don't worry, your besmirched top is now giving off a funeral vibe.
Not that you want to soak yourself in too much lament. Mistakes are part of learning, and judging by the latest mess, learning is a lifelong lesson.
Like eating.
And perhaps craning over the table like a tortoise next time to avoid this happening.
Doesn't have to be spaghetti either.
Saucy sausage sandwich will do the trick.
Same thing curry, noodles, tacos, gravy, blood, red wine, a kebab.
They're all capable of similar devastation via different delivery systems, and constant vigilance is your only defence.
Don't even mention opening a jar of baby beetroots.
Why not? Because I'm going to.
Sealed so hard you're usually better off employing a hammer.
Request for assistance often coming just when you thought the patriarchy was on the run.
Try banging the lid on a benchtop to shift the pressure first.
Maybe better off banging your head.
Lids rarely budge without a messy fight.
Nor patriarchies.
Probably wiser to change wardrobe before engaging.
Overalls maybe.
Or glad wrap?
Sometimes you get lucky.
The lid is small enough to fit your hand, and your hands aren't greasy just yet because you haven't realised what a tense struggle is about to unfold.
Grip-to-lid ratio is therefore high and you're in a decent position to exert maximum Monty Burns squeeze.
Ugh!
Any luck and 'schlock' the lid comes off first go.
Leaving you to revel in antiquated gender stereotypes about feeling like a hero.
Other times it's a war of attrition.
Teeth grit, eyes clench, cartilage strains.
And that's just getting out of the chair
Driving you to lean in and really have a crack.
Or was that your finger joint?
After a Herculean struggle, 'plop'.
No, you don't collapse.
Rather the lid might jerk loose and baby beet juice sploshes all over your chest, just where were straining with the jar in those final climactic moments.
Wardrobe integrity - splat.
Might was right on this occasion.
But not for the white T.
As I said at the beginning, when it comes to food, some fashions just don't match.
