I’d like to consider my latest fashion trend an innovation, but I’m sure people have been turning their clothes back to front since the first hessian sack was turned into a modesty vest. Still, I like to think the backwards-shirt has been taken to new heights in Quilpie recently. The source is obvious, it stems from my comprehensive lack of coordination and motor skills when taking food from the plate to the mouth. New borns make less mess while eating tacos.
The backwards-shirt thing is yet to officially become a trend, as I’m not certain there is anyone else publicising their ingenious tricks to get around stained white shirts. That’s why I’m writing this. I reckon people should feel comfortable to come forward with their eating and wearing faux pas. Tell the world you had an incident that haunts you through your clothes. It’s strangely liberating.
For instance, today as I strolled into the kitchen to deliver some morning greetings the cook began scrutinising my dress with the level of attention I would usually dedicate to checking dubious bread for mould. No, I replied to her stare, this dress is the right way on. There is a big strip down the back of that dress, actually, so I’ll have to be careful.
The best part about this trend, or soon-to-be trend, is that it can get you out of sticky situations. For example, when you arrive at work and spill coffee down the front, instead of looking like a vertical dishcloth you can sneak away and pretend the shirt is fresh off the line. Smooth.
On Monday I had to travel away for work. I carefully carted my favourite work shirt away on a hanger, eager to impress the boss with my classy hand-me-downs. Of course, when I began ironing the shirt I noticed the large stain below the right breast. Frustratingly, I realised the last time I donned the shirt I had employed the backwards trick due to the same bloody stain. Ahhh, nothing like a memory that offers less use than an egg carton in a pen full of roosters. Nevermind, I turned the white blouse round the other way and looked for a necklace to hide the tag mark. And then on Monday morning my mouth ran away with the spoon and I couldn’t help but tell my boss about my tricky wardrobe shenanigans. I think it brought us closer together. A real team building moment.
I’m sure other people have different ways to cope with stained shirts. My mother adopts the most un-original remedy – pre-wash stain remover. Others probably send their soiled garb to the guilt-free tip, the thrift shop.
I’ll continue to swap my shirts and dresses around. Would you do the same? Would you tell anyone?