Attack of the Killer Music Stand

A generic adult female attends a Christmas party

It was an all-female Christmas party, put on by Martha Stewart clones (pre-Alcatraz Martha, anyway. If you combined all these women’s misdeeds, you might have enough to write out a parking ticket).  So I felt VERY out of place (My house is decorated with out-of-date spelling lists and cat hair). But it was a nice evening nonetheless. That is, until they served the food.

Now, being a Chubby Girl, and a well-endowed one at that, I cannot eat daintily. I’m clumsy, and can’t hold the fork still enough. Food that apparently doesn’t want to be eaten leaps off my fork in an effort to save itself from my gaping maw. Unfortunately, dried cranberries in a strawberry vinaigrette sauce can’t jump very far and of course, they landed on my cushy bosom. This is a chronic problem with me. I am always dribbling food onto my clothing because I can’t lean over far enough to eat over my plate. So I always end up with a nice red stain on my nice cream-colored shirt.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I could drift aimlessly into the corner and not talk to anyone the rest of the night, but guess what, folks? I was part of the Christmas program. One of the planners had conned me into playing a clarinet solo as part of the program (Yes, I’m a band nerd).

So first, I had this large food stain on my shirt. Then I began to wrestle with the music stand, trying to put it together. It’s one of those cheap metal ones where the legs fold up. I tried to pry them down and used my stomach as leverage. Bad idea. It slipped off my stomach and the resulting action was similar to stepping on a rake. The top of the music stand was flung upwards and the tip conked me in the noggin. My first reaction was to look around to see if anyone had witnessed such an incredibly embarrassing event. I felt like Wile E. Coyote in pursuit of the Roadrunner. It just wasn’t my day. Thank goodness no one seemed to be laughing—most of them had their backs turned away from me. But I now I had a slight headache. I reached my hand to feel around my forehead and there was blood. And all that was available to stanch the flow was a wad of toilet paper. You’d think that with all these Marthas, one of them would at least have a clever felt-appliqued handkerchief just sitting around waiting to absorb bodily fluids.

So I had to perform my clarinet solo (just call me Squidward) with a stained shirt and a fresh gash on my face. At least the coloring of stain and blood were festive.

Comments

[Melanie]

Another clumsy chubby chick!! Glad to hear I'm not alone!!!

[jo]

Oh yea babe....EVERY SINGLE shirt I own has those stains. EVERY ONE. And husband asks why I alawys wear black...it's not cause I think it will make me look slimmer.

[Sue]

When I was simply chubby, I managed to keep my clothes clean. As soon as I breached the confounded two hundred mark, suddenly a whole developed in my jaw, and my breasts grew three sizes too large, kind of like the Grinch.

In fact, right now, at this very moment, I'm eating one of my favorite (though embarrassing foods) and, since I'm at work, it's imperative that I keep my sweater clean. The food is Nachos Bellgrande from Taco Bell. They are really one of the most artificial foods available, but I love them without reason. The cheese is Cheez. The meat is pseudo-beef. And I'm convinced the tomatoes are man-made. And the subtle combination of flavors, with hot sauce, is heaven in my mouth.

So far, still clean.

[GAF]

Sue, how do you do it? I refuse to stick a napkin in my shirt. And you don't even WANT to know what that pseudo beef is, even if it is real beef. I'm reading "Fast Food Nation" and I am entirely grossed out.

[Melanie]

Sue, we are Taco Bell sisters! I love the Nacho Bellgrande more than anything!! Its a toss up between that and Ben and Jerry's Half Baked Twisted as to what is really an orgasm in a cup (or bowl)