Sisterhood of the Stained Shirts
Throughout my life, I’ve been one or more of the following: round, chubby, firm, firmly packed, “you’ve got such a pretty face,” fat, obese, morbidly obese, pleasingly plump, zaftig, overweight, and heavy. Struggling with the weight, criticism, and judgment is one of those life lessons; a lesson that no matter how much you learn and change, it has more to teach you.
One of the things that was always extremely and even painfully embarrassing to me was that I spilled stuff and got stains on my shirts. I’m buxom enough that my shirt is a net of safety so spilled food and drink never has to touch the ground! I was also brought up to understand that overweight/heavy/plump/fat people had to make an extra effort to be neat and clean in their appearance, otherwise they’d be judged as low-class, slovenly, slatternly, ignorant, messy pigs. So when I spilled something, it went beyond embarrassing to painful mortification.
Then I discovered, joyfully and to my surprise, that it happens to everyone. Then I found among my friends that it’s a reason for laughter and affection. We are the sisterhood of the stained shirts.
I rarely wear white shirts because they get stained and are not a good wardrobe investment. I had one I bought dirt cheap so I put it on — brand new — and wore it to work. I look down and there are little tiny drop stains like coffee or tea. I emailed my sisters and we shared a laugh. I can even get stains on shirts I haven’t even worn! Together we have found that tomato sauce can get around layers of napkins, bibs, and sweaters to stain white and pastel shirts. Not just tomato sauce, but anything in our hand-to-mouth coordination proves to be a stain in the making.
Of course, the Goddess blesses us in all our humanity, and as a matter of fact, shows her abundance in her many aspects. The Triple Goddess of Stains: Maiden (Tomato Sauce on a pastel shirt), Mother (Coffee/Tea on a beige shirt) and Crone (Big Splat of All) and Hag (O, the hell with it, I’m putting it on proudly). That’s four, but in the Coven of the Stained Shirts, our sisters are not bound by conventional thinking). All Spills are Ours. The God became the sacrificed one because he laughed as the stain became spilled.
All hail to the sacred bib of the Goddess
Catch my spills and take them into your Be-ing
Honor my stains for they are a life of devotion
To the bounties of your harvest.
All hail to the Sacred Tide-to-Go Wand of the God
Erase my spills, if you can, from my shirt
Leaving a faded spot thereon.
Honor my faded spots as we do honor
To the spilling wisdom of the God.
As to my hall of fame contention, I have two words: chop sticks and a teriyaki sauce to die for!
This from a zaftig goddess with a stained shirt!