There are three guarantees in life: death, taxes and spilling something on your white outfit.
Try as you might to avoid, evade and simplify your life, these things always catch up with you eventually.
I love the Final Destination movies. I’m surprised they haven’t made one based solely on the struggle to keep a white shirt/dress/suit dirt, oil and sauce-free.
Imagine this scene:
*describing premonition to friends*
“I saw it. Like, I don’t know, I just saw it. I saw it the tomato sauce-lathered chip n dip falling, falling slowly onto my chest. I saw the horror in my face as I couldn’t do anything to stop it. And it was so real. It was so very real.”
Now that is a horror movie.
When you’re wearing white, chances are you’re feeling yourself that day. You’re going somewhere fly – be it a Diddy party, a boat, or a wedding in an attempt to outshine the bride. No one wears white when they’re having a bad day, but it can quickly turn into one when you do. And you must learn how to cope when things take a turn for the worst.
Here are the 5 Stages of Grief When You’ve Spilled on a White Outfit:
1. Denial and Isolation
You look down in horror at your crisp outfit as a rogue piece of oily chicken falls on your white shirt. It all happened in so quicky yet so slowly and you were helpless to stop it. Numb, you spring up, and dash to the nearest bathroom to throw water on it. You hope you were fast enough to minimise the damage. You stay away from the party/function for a while trying to sort your messy self out. You don’t want to see or talk to anyone or take shitty advice on home remedies for stain removal. You just want to be left alone.
WTF did you just do to yourself, you scream silently. Why does this story always end this way for you? As you were getting dressed that day, you said a prayer to all-white waring Jesus that today was not the day you’d spill – look at yourself now. A broken, formerly crisp disappointment. You don’t want to take selfies with anyone anymore, and you start hating the outfit for being so damn white. You’re angry because you’ll never be the person you were BTS (Before The Stain).
You try to regain control of the situation by going through the choices you could have made.
“I should have worn black.” Because no one has ever spilled something on a black outfit and hated themselves afterwards. Except that one thing. But this piece is PG 13.
“There was a large serviette that I could have draped across my chest.” Yes, you weren’t eating messy pork ribs and it would have looked silly but that 5 minutes of looking a bit silly would have saved you.
“Why did you even eat?” You weren’t really hungry. You were just passing time until the next glass of bubbly came. You could have lived on champagne alone. Now people refer to you as the person who HAD a cute white outfit. Broken dreams everywhere.
Oh dear. What a great party it would have been for you if you had not been clumsy.
You also start to beat yourself up about being emotionally unavailable to your friends and family at the party because all you have focused on is the stain.
You’re sad because the stain has made you an asshole.
The show must go on. Yes, you’ll be looking down at your sad excuse for a shirt every 15 minutes to see if this REALLY happened but you’re no longer angry or upset – you’re coping. Some never reach this stage unfortunately. They call an Uber and disappear into the night. Or they choose to wear only blue dashikis now. Others accept that this is the risk that goes with the path of flyness, and understand that this won’t be the last time it happens.
To quote Final Destination: “In death (spillage), there are no accidents, no coincidences, no mishaps and no escapes.”