Food Spillages
5 September 2006
I’ve just thrown my washing in the machine: Peach Bellini and olive-oil stained gauchos, white shirt polka dotted with bits of melted chocolate, dried egg yolk adhered to fibers of sweater.
It goes without saying - I annoit myself with my food. This is because eating for me is a religious experience, which, if it’s Sunday brunch, is totally and completely logical.
I’m gunna guess you could tell from my laundry list what I ate for said brunch last Sunday. Yep, there was a glass of Prosecco with a splash of yummy peach schnapps; an omelet accompanied by salad drizzled with olive oil, and a chocolate croissant on the side.
Unlike the food, the outfit wasn’t great. Could you tell that too?
You’re right. It wasn’t a clinquant outfit — not to be confused with Clicquot as in Veuve and Champagney. Rather, clinquant is French for draped head-to-toe in very obvious designer labels.
Being obviously labeled is not a good look. In that sense, a clinquant outfit is unsubtle to the degree that it verges on tasteless.
Tasteless? That definitely was not my outfit last Sunday. By the time I took it off, I wasn’t sure whether to toss it in my wash basket or in the fridge for a later tasty-morsel snack!
I think I should take to wearing my napkin tucked into my cleavage when I eat out, and one around each arm to protect my elbows and around my waist to protect my lap.
In fact, I could start a new trend and bring my own tablecloth with me when I eat out, draping myself with it before eating.
Though if it were a designer-label tablecloth, I’d run the risk of being clinquant: very obviously draped in a label from head-to-toe, which as I said, is not a good look.
Oh my gawd, what is a girl to do?
Bottom line, Bloggers, I think the only answer is to bog into one’s food with gay abandon and bugger the food spillages.
Just have some stain stick on hand for afters!
