The story behind the stains.

Okay – here’s the story. See? I thought I’d do the nice thing and bring my friend and her kids lunch on Sunday while they were moving in. I went to a chicken place that served Chicken Tender/Fries platters in those Styrofoam to-go containers. We were all crowded on her couch eating when someone spilled a soda at my feet. I leaned over to help clean it up. I sat back up to finish eating and looked down and thought, “WHAT THE HELL?”

While leaning over to clean, I had dipped my boob in ketchup.

We immediately all started choking we were laughing so hard as I tried my best to soak up some of the mess with a napkin. I’m sure LilZ thought it was awesome that I kept saying, “Look! It’s like my boob is a french fry!”

Moments later, I felt a moist sensation on my thigh. (STOP.) I lifted up the container and realized SHIT! – the ketchup had started spilling out of the crease of the container and onto my thigh. AWESOME. And what did we do? Laughed our asses off all over again. At least I find my own idiocy humorous.

Stace’s oldest daughter was concerned to find out I would still go to Target looking like that. I did inform her that Target has seen me much worse. I don’t think this made her feel any better. I went on about my business trying to periodically use items like groceries, my purse, or my child to cover the stains. It’s like my tagline once said, “Unfairly blaming my kids for stains on my clothes since 1995.”


4 thoughts on “The story behind the stains.”

  1. You know that L probably would have went to Target with you, but would have acted like she didn’t know you inside! Ah, puberty… when you think you’re always cute!

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