I used to go to my grandma's house all the time (yeah, that one). And, you know how grandmas are...she was making some homemade chocolate pudding. (Personally, I don't like homemade pudding, because it gets that layer of rubber on the top after it has cooled.) Anyway, she was standing there, stirring her pudding and chatting to me and some of my cousins. As she went to taste the pudding, a huge glob of it dropped off the spoon...right onto her large chest.
Now, you must understand. Most of the women on the paternal side of my family are rather well endowed. Ok, actually, they're enormous. Luckily? Unfortunately? I was blessed with a little bit of those genes. Sometimes I joke and say I got my boobs from my dad (because that is the side of the family they came from...not because my dad is large and has them himself...he doesn't. Actually, until my dad went to nursing school several years ago, he was quite scrawny.) Again, I digress.
So, my cousins and I all burst out laughing when that glob of pudding landed on gram's most available tarmac. And that day, I think grandma put a curse on my barely bulging, jr. high aged body. She told us all, as she wiped as much chocolate as she could off of her white shirt, that it wasn't funny, and we'd all have the same daggone problem in the short future. (She told us all this in not quite those same words. But there is no way to effectively put grandma into a blog!)
Fast forward to years after that pudding event. Grandma was right. I have made mountains out of mole hills. And every shirt has a toothpaste stain to prove it.
Oh, and there's that one shirt....that brand spankin' new brown one that I loved instantly....that has bleach. Right on the bosom. I didn't even have that shirt on when I used the bleach! Which brings me to my next topic. Bleach has magical powers. No, not for its cleaning ability. But for its ability to get EVERYWHERE even hours after the bottle was closed again. Not only did I find a spot of bleach on my new shirt. I found a spot on my bedsheets. The bleach is on the opposite side of the apartment from my bed!!! How on earth did those bleach spots get there. (Oh, and I KNOW the spots didn't happen while I was washing those sheets.)
It may have just been the fault of the sheets though. I bet they were begging to get stained. Calling all the stain-able liquids to them, pied piper style. Because, you know what? Later that night, the hubby got a random bloody nose. And after he had rushed to the bathroom, I noticed a couple small drops of blood, just a foot away from those daggone bleach stains.