I can’t wear white.  Not because it doesn’t work with my coloring (it does), not because it makes me look fat (more on this later), but because EVERY time I wear white I spill food on myself and permanently ruin that particular clothing item.  For years I have tried, but my closet (and trash can) are full of beloved white shirts covered in permanent stains.  I know what you are thinking, maybe you should slow down Piggy and be a little more careful when you eat.  Aah, but there is the rub!  I am a VERY slow eater.  In fact, my husband, whom eats every meal as if the world is ending in 10 seconds, is finished with his meal a full 30 minutes before I am finished with mine.  Though, at times, I think he eats his food so fast just so he has an excuse to pick at my meal.  And, further evidence that I CAN get through a meal without wearing half of it on my chest is that my blue, black, green, etc. shirts are for the most part, stain free.  There is an errant red wine drop or salsa drip on a few items, but nothing that ruins the shirts.  I have spent many years analyzing why this happens and I am at a loss.  It is a riddle wrapped in an enigma.  I have just come to the conclusion that if I am going to be eating (or drinking) I can’t wear white.  What follows is how I ruined some of my favorite white tops and a little rant about white jeans just because I need to get it off my chest…

I first realized I had a problem with white in high school.  I would carefully plan my outfit (it was high school!) and leave the house admiring my white shirt with the lacy Peter Pan collar only to come home and have my Mom ask, “What happened?!”  That Peter Pan collar was ruined when I dropped a hot greasy Tommy’s french fry (if you have tried these, get them with extra seasoned salt, they are delicious!) covered in ketchup right onto my stomach.  I was aiming for my mouth.  I don’t know how it happened, but I went back to class with a very wet (tried to get stain out) and very dirty shirt.  I was dying with embarrassment as I walked through the halls and just knew everyone was staring.  The stain never came out and the shirt was thrown out.  This pattern continued through high school.  I kept trying to wear white and kept spilling food on myself.  I dribbled Diet Coke down my chest, I dropped full pizza slices (cheese side down, of course) in my lap, I dragged me sleeves through salad dressing and on and on.  So much so, that one of my high school boyfriends decided he was going to “fix” my problem.  He had observed, so he thought, that I didn’t hold my mouth right when I took a bite of food or a drink.  He actually coached me!  Did it work? No.  I still was the big dribbler.

The problem followed me to college.  I was obsessed with the white Gap pocket T-shirt and loved to wear it tucked in (tucking in is another thing I have given up) to jeans.  When I wore this ensemble I thought I looked cool and chic.  Coffee stains, red wine splashes and marinara sauce dribbles are neither cool nor chic, so I spent a small fortune replacing every Gap white pocket T-shirt I ruined.  Yet I kept trying.  In fact, I have pictures of myself in this very outfit from a college house party.  If you go through all of them, you can see the before and after of the big spill.  There is one with me smiling in a pristine white shirt holding my boyfriends hand.  Next I am posing by the food table, shirt still clean, trying to look cool.  All the others, well, I am looking uncomfortable and trying, but failing, to hide a stain the size of a frisbee in the middle of my shirt.  Right after the food table shot, I had gone in for a huge bite of the seven layer dip and before I could get the chip to my mouth, the beans, sour cream, salsa, etc. had fallen down the front of my shirt.  I now believe that supplying myself with new white shirts  was a large part of Gap’s big comeback.

Unfortunately, the problem did not end in college.   I shudder to think of the many business meetings I attended with my crisp white shirt or fashionable white business blouse covered in that morning’s coffee or mustard from lunch.  In fact, I had to give a big presentation a while back and told my boss, “I won’t wear a white shirt.”  Her response? “Good.”  Damn, the secret was out.  What is strange is that even other people spilled things on MY white shirts.  One Fourth of July, I had my parents over for Mexican food, drinks, ice cream and general frivolity.  My Mom had Alzheimer’s and loved both ice cream and Mexican food.  Because we weren’t going out I figured what the hell and put on one of the few unstained white shirts I owned (Okay, I confess, I hadn’t worn it yet).  It was a really cute white polo.  Not the Ralph Lauren kind, but the ones that are cut for girls and are shorter so you can wear them untucked.  We sat around the table eating Mexican food and sipping wine.  At this point, a full two hours into the day, I was still stain free.  I was giddy.  Had I finally broken the curse?  Could I once again boldly go into a clothing store and say, “I will take it in white” ?  Pride does cometh before a fall.  Exactly fifteen minutes later, as Mom finished her third Drumstick, she got up and hugged me.  Nice.  But her hands were covered in chocolate and ice cream, which of course, ended up all over my shirt.  The curse continues…

My final white shirt story happened on my wedding day.   My husband to be and I had both been married before, so we wanted a small at the courthouse ceremony.  My Mom had passed away earlier that same year and I wanted to wear something that reminded me of her.  About five years prior she had given me a very expensive white shirt.  It was an open weave with intricate opaque butterflies woven in randomly.  All white and not my style.  At the time I thanked her, put it in my closet and didn’t think about it again.  But when deciding what to wear for my wedding day, I realized not only would it be a little piece of my Mom, but it also would be perfect to get married in, well except for the fact that it was white.  So I made it through pre-ceremony drinks without a spill and was feeling confident as we went out for a post ceremony dinner.  At the end of dinner, still stain free, I reached over to pick up my bouquet and spilled half a glass of red wine down the front of me.  We rushed home and I soaked it in club soda.  It ALMOST all came out.  I saved the shirt, for sentimental reasons, but will not be wearing it again any time soon.  I have now been married almost four years and my husband now gives me a look when he finds me fondling white shirts in a clothing store.  “Look how cute,” I will say.  “Fine, but you will just spill on it,” he will answer. Yup, I will. So I slowly back away from the white shirts and go toward the black section.

There it is, my sordid past (and present) history with white shirts.  Now, the rant on white jeans I promised.  I don’t like them.  In fact, I hate them.  Maybe it is because I was a server at California Pizza Kitchen back in the day.   Before they wore the current uniform, we wore white jeans, a white button down, full black apron and very ugly yellow tie.  All the girls, including me, hated them.  They weren’t flattering and showed dirt.  Just imagine if you will, me of the big spill, serving food and wine in all white.  I just thanked God for that long black apron.  Now, apparently, white jeans are “in” and all the cool kids are wearing them.  No.  I won’t.  I don’t care how many Old Navy ads I see where I ALMOST think, wow, they DO look cute, because then I come back to reality and know that I will feel like there is a spotlight on my butt and that said butt will more than likely be covered in a stain from something I sat in…  Plus, I do think I would have some very serious CPK flashbacks and they are never good.  The upside of all this?  I never have to concern myself with the whole “white after Labor Day” conundrum.