The White Problem

I don't know if it's age, gender or genetics but I have no business wearing white.  It seems like all I have to do is put on a white t-shirt and wait.  I don't think I even need to move from a seated position: I can just sit there and it happens. Yesterday I went through three.

In all fairness to myself, the first one was in the line of duty.  Evan and I went out for a bike ride and he, slightly over-confident on a new bigger bike but still trailing training wheels, crashed three times which got my plain white T involved in picking up and righting the wreckage as well as using the soft fabric to mop up tears.  Line of duty.

The second one was less understandable but still, I can find the space to forgive myself. Go for a swim, hang up the wet suit, change into dry shorts and toss on a clean white T. Miniature golf, sporting goods store, pick up a new stool for the kitchen, stop in to check out a local daycare and reward ourselves with a MoJo Yogurt.  Chocolate.  I just sat there eating my frozen yogurt watching Volume II shorts from the Three Stooges Collection they had playing.  I was fully aware of the inherent danger of eating chocolate frozen yogurt while wearing a white shirt.  I was fully aware and careful in my cautious handling of that paper cup and green plastic spoon.  And yet, as we walked back to the car, my wife laughs and tells me I have chocolate all over that shirt. Laughingly.  And she was right!

As with any good story, it gets worse: Back to the pool for an evening swim then change into, what else?, a clean white T.  Bathe the boy, get him a snack and then off to bed. Before I do the same I decide to have just a couple of bites of the watermelon he'd been eating. Nice, safe, small cut-up pieces of watermelon.  I even took the precaution of standing over the sink and leaning with each bite.  Next thing I know I'm looking at a dumb-ass brushing his teeth with a single, well-placed spot of watermelon juice on his plain white t-shirt.

Has it always been this way with me?  Is it a guy thing?  I look at elderly men, shuffling along with their walkers and I study them for signs of spillage.  Am I witnessing the first signs of advancing age, the relentless march of time, the undoing of my macho self?  Is a walker with wheels and tennis balls just around the corner?

This could be genetic.  My well-performing University of Michigan daughter seems to have the same ability to soil herself.  I don't recall either of my parents having the problem.  It's times like this when I wish they were still around to ask them about such things as whether or not they had a problem when wearing white. There would be comfort in knowing.

I'd be out of white T's today if I hadn't spotted that watermelon juice at first sighting last night.  As it is, I did and have it on right now. Clean and pristine, I'm ready to make coffee. Wish me luck.