Disorder costs a wardrobe

I have an eating disorder: I'm unable to successfully transport food from my plate to my mouth.

Obviously, I'm not entirely unsuccessful, or I'd be much thinner. It's just that at least one bite per meal ends up on my blouse. My entire wardrobe is covered with remembrances of meals gone by. Ketchup. Mustard. Hamburger drippings.

It's so common that, the last time it happened, my dinner companion said, "There you go. It's over. Now you can just sit back and enjoy the rest of your food."

I've become an expert on all types of stain-removal products. First, you should know that taking regular detergent and scrubbing the outfit with it doesn't work at all. Also, taking chlorine bleach to an item, even if it is white, can have some spectacularly bad results. Trust me. You need something in between those two options, preferably industrial strength.

Shout Wipes are my constant companions. Mostly, they just change the problem from a tiny spot of food into a large, clearly noticeable wet area on my chest, but at least there's a better chance of the stain coming out later.

If the stain is outrageously bad -- like when I launched an entire plate of chicken marsala onto my lap in a crowded mall restaurant -- the outfit goes to the dry cleaners, where the professionals know me by name and issue long-suffering sighs.

I think I may be losing respect in the office. After all, how can a person unable to feed herself put in a solid eight hours of highly skilled work? People start to notice when you consistently begin the day in one outfit and end it in another.

It wasn't always this bad. In years past, I went months at a time without looking down at my clothes to find a dressing-covered piece of lettuce staring back at me. Today, I notice 5-year-olds at the next table having better success keeping their Garanimals clean than I'm doing with my Liz Claiborne.

Did I just stop concentrating on eating? Is the volume of food actually so much that it can't be controlled?

That's got to be the key to getting this clothes-destroying trend under control -- total concentration on each bite. There has to be mental repetition of the steps involved: Stab food firmly with fork. Confirm that all portions are clearly attached to the fork. Lift steadily into mouth. Chew. Stab food firmly with fork. Confirm that all portions ...

Of course, that total concentration is going to cut down on the dinner conversation.

Friend: Heidi, do you think the Cardinals are going to make the World Series?

Me: Cardinals, schmardinals! Can't you see I'm trying to eat here?

At home, there really isn't a problem. I slip into my favorite terrycloth robe, the one covered in all manner of sauces and condiments, and eat on the couch. It's the restaurants that cause trouble.

So here's my solution: more meals at home. If I'm forced to eat out, I'll follow one of these strategies:

1. Wear all black every day. Yes, it will appear that all my friends and relatives are dying, but one can slop anything onto a black shirt and wipe it off. Yes, it will cause a different shade of black, but if someone is looking at your chest that hard, he needs to either give you an engagement ring or be arrested.

2. Wear outlandishly colorful ensembles. That way, anything from marinara sauce to grape juice to pickle relish will blend in just fine.

And a final strategy: Somehow introduce aprons or bibs into the fashion world. Admittedly, this won't be easy, because most people in the fashion world don't seem to eat. Perhaps a plus line like Venezia or Just My Size would like to take this project on.

I'm available for modeling.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.