Ode to My Tide Stick

I know I've mentioned my appreciation before, but if the little lady had a magic wand, this would be it. 

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I snickered to myself yesterday afternoon about how I use my Tide stick so frequently, quickly realizing that spilling as much as I do must be symptomatic of some sort of syndrome. :/ There I was, sitting at my desk, Tide-sticking raspberry residue from my blouse. It's like a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser for your clothing. (If you've never used a Magic Eraser on your walls, I give you permission to take a half day to go reconnect with your cleaning self.)

So there I was, merely a few hours after the raspberry residue incident, meeting another couple for the very first time. (It's never in my cards to make a good first impression...) After waiting in line, paying a ridiculous amount of $, I was about to eat a ballpark hot dog. (Which we all know is totally worth the ridiculous amount of $.)

Earlier in the day, my friend teased me asking me just how many hot dogs I was going to get...because let's be honest, I love them. You think I would have been forever scarred by the waiter at the fancy Greenbrier resort performing the Heimlich on me as a child while I was choking on a hot dog, but my inner fat kid blocked it out.

Back to my story... So there I was, settling into my seat, opening my little individually boxed hot dog. Approximately 3 bites and 40 seconds later, my hot dog slipped out of my bun and I was left with a lap FULL of ketchup and mustard. 

"Let's see...maybe if I quietly reach for the napkins and tide stick, nobody will notice."
I thought to myself.

"Ginny!!! Wha? What the heck did you do?!" 
- Patrick, blowing my cover.

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^ how I felt.

I'd like to thank my little Tide stick for always seeing me through the rough times. Without you, I'd be more of a hot mess than I already am...

...a hot mess with stained clothes.

until next time,

g