Stain Stare

Another yucky day in Athens which makes me, and my hair, feel just eewww. Today after class I strolled over to the dining hall where I ordered my usual grilled chicken sandwich on bun and picked up some sweet potato fries along the way. This all requiring the attention of my favorite condiment, Ketchup. As I made my sandwich and squeezed two lovely ketchup packets on to the bun, I realized my love. But today, Ketchup was not my friend.

Apparently my bite was too big for my mouth, or something, and I dropped a piece of a fry onto my pink men's Polo that I often wear on these kind of drab days. "Woops," I thought to myself and tried to dab it off. No such luck. For those of you who know me, you understand why this was no big deal to me. In a short, honest phrase: I am a messy eater. Though I try to salvage all of my clothes from the stains they acquire, Spray and Wash is my hero.

So as I was walking out of the dining hall I grabbed my Tide-to-Go pen that in conveniently located in my book bag for instances like this. As I walked and dabbed, the wet-looking spot on my shirt tail got larger and larger. I did not mind, because I was fighting the stain off right before my next class. I am here to tell you that every single person I passed looked, not at me, but at my ketchup stain. I am stain fighting here, people. These strangers acted as this had never happened to them before. They acted as if I was a crazy woman marching towards class with three wet spots on my shirt (only part of this is true). I was proud of myself for my multitasking skills today, and they shut me down. Now, as I type this my shirt is dry. The stain however is only slightly seen and reminds me of this instance where I was again a misunderstood fool.