Green nail polish on our new carpet (someone was warned, someone didn’t listen, it’s still there)
Melted candled wax on our new carpet
Note: our new carpet is ages old by now, but those spills–and many more–are still there. I’m not sure if people don’t notice when they spill or if they can’t be bothered cleaning up after themselves.

Fry sauce on the carpet in the back passenger-side of my car first day I had it. Grease stains on the passenger seat even though I double layer-Scotch-guarded that baby at first daylight after the night we bought it.
Incidentally, I’m looking for an affordable place to detail my car. Because it’s about time. And the Scotch Guard isn’t working.

Because the front of me isn’t exactly flat, I have, on various occasions, been horrified to see food spills on my belly well into the day where I have not noticed until I get a shot of myself in at least a half-length mirror. Just last week I decided I out to keep a neutral shirt in a drawer in my desk at work just for such occasions.

I have a pale-tannish spill on my favorite sea-green button down shirt. I used to remember what it was, but after so many washings trying to get it out and so long not being able to wear it for the stain, I’ve forgotten now. But now I have a similar-colored stain from a spill on my favorite almost-but-not-quite robin-egg blue summer sweater. #sigh

Once when we had no money and Zack was sick and required an expensive antibiotic, I spilled half the bottle on the kitchen floor. I was devastated. Of course not only could we not afford to replace it, the insurance wouldn’t cover it again because it would have been too much too soon according to dosing regulations. I don’t recall the workaround we came up with for that, but obviously Zack recovered and is a healthy 26-year-old. But I still remember the sick feeling in my gut and my desperation as I tried to tip the bottle back up and salvage what I could.

When I’ve worked particularly hard to make a certain dish or meal–especially for someone else or as a food assignment for an event–I have an irrational fear of tripping on the stairs as I’m carrying it out to my car and spilling it all over the stairs, or the sidewalk, or the floor of my car.


[Day 175 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]