A case of the drops

close up photography of people picking nachos chips

Photo by Raizza VideƱa on Pexels.com

No, that isn’t some sort of new disease and it isn’t some kind of euphemism for diarrhea. I am not even referring to what football receivers get once in a while in their careers. In this case it refers to a really annoying occurrence of dining out.

I am sure you have experienced it at one time or another, but it’s what I like to call the times when food just can’t seem to make it to my mouth (or I miss it all together) and it ends up down the front of me…on my shirt, my jacket, my tie, my pants…”the drops.”

I can hear you yelling now, “Oh, man! I hate that!”

Last night I visited a local establishment just because I could and because I wanted to. Maybe my motivations were bad and I ended up paying the angry food gods because the case of the drops started almost immediately.

Chips and salsa, meet shirt and pants.

Chips, meet shirt.

Sour cream, meet shirt.

Guacamole, meet shirt and pants.

I swear, it has never been that bad before. Maybe I just wasn’t leaning over my plate enough. Maybe I just got really weak chips for dipping. Maybe the gods are angry with me for wanting nachos. Who knows!?! All I know is that my food spent as much time on my fork or in my fingers as it did on my clothing.

Good grief. Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed in public. Do you suppose they deliver nachos? That way I can just eat naked in the shower and hose myself off when I am done (sorry for that picture).


Got any messy food stories? What’s the best (and by best, I mean worst) instance of the drops have you had?