I've heard it said that the definition of grace is the ability to eat soup with the fingers and not need a napkin.
Graceful, I ain't. And no steak, no crab fluff, no hunk o' broiled salmon stands much of a chance when I show up with my knife and fork.
The hapless victim in all this often turns out to be my shirt. Therefore, over the years, I have tried to keep a few shirts just for when we go out and no food is involved, and some shirts that have seen the glory of bleu cheese dressing and Holland Daze (yes! I saw it that way on a menu) sauce bouncing off its buttons. Often, I would come home and attempt emergency treatment with Spray 'N' Wash, but many times, after anxious moments by the laundry machines, the verdict would come back...stained for life.
The other day, the proverbial straw must have broken the camel's back in my closet, and shirts and pants went a-tumblin' down because of a broken shelf. I fixed it, all right, but I decided to get rid of a few excess items. Oddly enough, I came to this decision shortly after Peggy strongly suggested that I do so.
Three bags - the B.A. drum-liner size - went to the Goodwill yesterday morning, filled with shirts and pants and many many ties. I think I need maybe 3 ties for the rest of my life.
There are now three categories into which my shirts may be sorted:
a - not for wearing when eating spaghetti
b - already been worn while eating spaghetti (and you can tell if you look really closely)
c - shirts that I will wear out to dinner, and if something gets on them, out they go.
It's not all that hard to say goodbye. It's only a shirt!