I am Messy Marvin (in white shirts only)

Have you ever noticed that when you wear an all-white shirt, you end up destroying it with stains by the end of the day (or by noon, if you're me)?

Why is it that when I wear any other color, I never spill a thing on myself, but the minute I throw something white over my head, I turn into Messy Marvin?

There seems no doubt about it... if I ever get married, I'm definitely going to have to wear a non-white wedding dress (and that's for more than one reason, ha ha!) just so I don't destroy myself.

Anyway, please look at what I did to myself today between the hours of 8:00am and 12:30pm...

Let me explain...

First, in a huge hurry this morning to not be late for babysitting, I threw this shirt on my Persian rug to iron it. I couldn't be bothered to get my ironing board out, as it just needed a quick press.

Well, after ironing it, I picked it up to put it on, and I discovered that a tiny niblet of chocolate (I was indeed engaged in a chocoholic-a-thon over my horrible writer's weekend recently and apparently was not too neat with the choco-crumbs) had melted into the back of the shirt. I attempted to rub it out with a dish cloth to some small avail. But you can still see the stain slightly. Since it's on the back of the shirt, it remains unmarked in this photo. However, it is there.

Then, I made myself a bagel and threw some blueberry jam upon it. Having no time to eat it from a plate like a civilized person, I whisked it onto a paper towel and ran out the door, chomping on it as I drove to the baby's house in my car. Somewhere between Park and Tucson Avenues, the jam slid off the bagel and drizzled stickily all over my left boob, where it remained throughout the morning.

Having discovered what I pig I had become when I looked at myself in the mirror at the baby's house, I realized that coffee might be just what the doctor ordered. Too bad I missed my mouth with my travel mug of "Porto Rico strudel cake flavored" coffee that I brought with me to the house. No kidding. My mouth was a good half inch to the left of where I threw back the cup. Hello, stain # 3.

And then... and then... the baby woke up from her nap. I was holding her on my lap and playing with her on the sofa. And she reached for my Iraqi Arabic text book that was sitting next to me (lord knows why, it's not good reading) and got a paper cut on her little ring finger.

Now, I know and you know that paper cuts sting. Babies think so too, apparently, for she cried. A lot. And, a paper cut makes a lot of blood on a tiny baby hand. In fact, I went through two full Kleenexes before the thing finally stopped bleeding! I want to say it was like a baby blood bath, but that's rather disturbing (especially in light of yesterday's awful VT events...), but really, it did bleed a lot, the poor little thing. And... of course, it got smeared on my shirt in the process.

My white shirt. Which is going to the cleaners this week.

And just to add some levity to that seemingly dark ending...
Here is Baby S. with the hiccups:

See, I'm a nice babysitter!