Does that look come in oatmeal?

I thought I'd told you this story already but I've searched the IHATH archives and can find no mention of it, so I think we're safe on the senility-fueled premature-instant-replay front.

And although I hesitate to talk about Allissa again immediately after her birthday post -- because as you know I'm going to see her this weekend and inevitably there'll be yet another birthday post -- I must talk about her in order to set this one up.

Several weeks ago my daughter told me a cute story.

Mamaw's Oatmeal

In order to appreciate it you have to know that when my granddaughters are at my house, and often when I am at their house, I prepare their morning oatmeal.

I never buy instant packets or even quick oats. I make whole-grain oats from scratch, with milk and a few other additives, to include a pinch of salt along with plenty of cinnamon and brown sugar.

Occasionally a raisin or two may beg attendance at the smart-kids table.

When it's ready I add a generous dollop of applesauce to cool it down and provide nutritional heft.

The girls eat my porridge like it's going out of style, which in fact it may be if the early-morning lines at fast-food joints are any indication.

(Erica teaches school in the Atlanta area. When she has early-stay duty she tells of three-year-olds and up walking into the gym with their breakfast in McDonald's bags. For shame.)

But on ordinary days when their mother prepares their oatmeal, the girls fare a little more plainly.

My daughter is much more conservative than I when it comes to culinary embellishments ... especially at seven o'clock in the morning.

I shudder to say I don't even think she adds sugar or that all-important pinch of salt.

But on a recent morning Stephanie made the kids' breakfast from add-water-and-nuke cop-out instant oatmeal packets that she'd inherited from some source or other.

Of course these varieties come laced with sugar and various other flavorings both real and artificial.

Which is why they're delicious.

So my daughter set the girls' bowls in front of them and turned away to make herself a cup of coffee.

There was silence as both Melanie and Allissa spooned in first mouthfuls.

Then, immediately, from Allissa came a declaration:

"This is Mamaw's Oatmeal!"

HA HA. Sugar = Mamaw. I love it. May it ever be so.

A Faux Pas On The Deposition Front

Now that I've relayed that by-way-of-introduction story I'm no longer sure why it's germane to this post, but in for a penny, in for a pound. Let's go for it.

About ten days ago I reported several depositions. One of the victims deponents was a lady in her mid-thirties.

This doesn't happen often -- What am I saying? It happens never! -- but she was the perfect witness.

She listened until the lawyer had finished each question. She thought for a moment, then answered the question thoroughly, coherently and, I believe, truthfully.

And yes! That makes her unusual. Sad but true.

(It should be noted here that she herself was not in trouble but had merely been a witness to another's trouble. Tends to color one's reaction to certain probing questions.)

Most people interrupt constantly and attempt to cover their half-truths with histrionics and an excess of disjointed verbiage. The more they try to obfuscate, the more obvious they become.

Let that be a lesson should you ever (heaven forfend) find yourself on the receiving end of a deposition proceeding.

But back to our deponent. She was really nice. Her sense of humor was dry and she had a great smile. I liked her.

She was dressed casually in khakis and a coral-colored tank top layered with a coordinating coral cardigan that featured white polka dots. Her look was neat but not too serious. It was young, season-appropriate, and cute.

About one-third of the way through the depo, however, I noticed something out of place. See, I watch the deponent constantly. Usually I watch their face but naturally I take in other things too.

You've Been Taped In More Ways Than One

You know those many-inches-long opaque tape-like tags that some stores slap onto the fronts of garments? They have the size -- like XL -- in large block letters at the top and other information as you go down the strip.

Once you get home, you tear it off and hope it doesn't deface your new shirt or sweater, then find you needn't have worried; the adhesive wizards were way ahead of you.

Well, this witness had bought a new outfit for her depo (I told myself) -- probably the night before -- and she had forgotten to tear off her clear adhesive strip with the big XL right at the top.

It was strategically placed over ... ahem ... her left chest.

When I noticed it my first thought was: "Uh-oh. Should I tell her?"

Like, when somebody has tissue stuck to her shoe as she exits the ladies room, or her slip is showing, or there is lipstick on her front teeth?

But I knew I wouldn't have an opportunity to tell her. The depo was in progress and as soon as it was over, she would bolt.

Which she did, with her store tag still decorating her front.

Quasi-Desperate Times

Fast forward several days to last Thursday.

I had accepted an assignment for a job in Greenville. Two depos that would take most of the day.

Greenville is a ninety-minute drive and I needed to be there thirty minutes before the ten o'clock start.

I hate getting up early and driving, so the night before the job, I asked TG if he'd be my chauffeur.

He rearranged his schedule and said he'd be glad to. He'd take his clubs and hit balls at a nearby driving range while I worked. Then we'd go out to lunch.

Excellent.

As I was getting ready the next morning, I found myself running a few minutes behind.

I take considerable pains with my appearance. Now and then it takes a little longer to achieve the look I'm going for, which is decidedly not 54-year-old Mamaw.

No word yet on my rate of success. The silence is deafening.

You might say the jury is still out and the longer they stay out, the worse it looks for me.

Thanks Ever So, Folks

But on this particular morn there hadn't even been time for my customary large cup of fresh, strong, hot coffee, liberally laced with pre-heated half and half.

I asked TG if he'd run over to the nearby McDonald's and get me a container of their wonderful oatmeal (which I discovered when we were on our way to Ohio for Grandpa's funeral last January) and a cup of fresh, hot, strongish coffee.

So of course he did, and as he put us on I-26 West headed for Greenville, I lustily devoured my oatmeal and drank my coffee and it was truly delicious.

Wait for it!

Once at the depo, we exchanged pleasantries with the host barrister. So much so that, when he found out TG was determined to find a driving range, he called the Greenville Country Club -- where he is a member, naturally -- and told them he was sending over a friend and to put the whole thing on his account.

Good man.

I also talked at length with the deponent -- another very nice lady not wearing a clothes tag (on the outside) -- and her husband while we waited for everything to get started.

About an hour into the proceeding we took a break. For some reason I looked down at my front.

Houston, We Have A Problem

How shall I put this? My dress has several colors but the area immediately around the "V" neckline is black.

And right there between my skin and where my necklace lay on my front, was ... how perceptive you are!

Oatmeal.

So where oh where do you suppose said sizeable splotch of oatmeal -- now dried -- strategically situated on the blackest part of my dress, fit into my personal sartorial agenda, not to mention my carefully-cultivated professional image?

Let's just say I was appalled.

How many seemingly nice, compassionate people had seen the oatmeal on my dress and thought, "That lady is wearing her breakfast. Or perhaps she burped a small child this morning. I wonder if I should tell her? Is ignorance really bliss? Nah. I mean, yeah. Best not to get involved."

To them I say, thanks a lot. Oh and, by the way? A pox upon you and the horse you rode in on, and for good measure, upon your heirs and assigns into perpetuity.

I discreetly scratched at my dress and soon had eradicated all vestiges of Mamaw's (by way of McDonald's) Oatmeal from the visible portion of my person.

For the rest of the day I tried not to think about what others may have thought.

With varying degrees of success, I might once again add.

And now I'm hungry for oatmeal.

I shall use a bib.

Comments

[Mari]

I've thoroughly enjoyed this post! I must say that there have been times I've wanted a bib too. And - I think I better try McDonalds oatmeal!

[irene]

I never tire of hearing about your girls, and I always wonder if you should tell someone that they are wearing their breakfast. Should I?

['Aunt Amelia']

-chuckle- Life happens... :-)

Gentle hugs,
.....?.....

['Aunt Amelia']

Oooops. sorry about that sig. line.

Should be....

Gentle hugs...

[Erica]

Hahaha!! This made me laugh. Partly because your storytelling was hilarious and partly because something similar happened to me the other day. After eating some yogurt and throwing away the little empty tub, I kept smelling something like strawberry. I looked down and realized I had a big glob of it in about the same place you described! Fortunately, no one saw me.

[Angel]

lol ohh I could use some hot oatmeal with maple syrup too right bout now Jen!!:)

[Donna (Texas)]

Hahahaaaa.....only you....
You enjoy that Birthday weekend!!
hughugs

[kev]

Great story!

In my first ever job interview, I informed the individual interviewing me that they had something on their chin. I'm fairly certain it's the reason I got the job.

[Donna M.]

See, you should have TOLD that nice young gal that she was wearing a store tag! ROFL, sweet justice came back to you! Of course, Jim and ( can join in our your embarrassment because we wear our food with considerable frequency

I remember that there was a fellow at the office that had forgotten to zip up once. All the gals were giggling about it. Of course, me being ME, as soon as I knew about it, I went right over to him and told him. He was ever so grateful!

I love the side story about the kids and your oatmeal!

[Donna M.]

Ooops, I put a bracket instead of "i" in my post. My fingers are not feeble this morning. I just don't have my contacts in yet and I'm blind as a bat.

[Debbie]

I've run into situations like that, and I ALWAYS tell the person so they can correct the (tag, oatmeal, whatever). I think, what if that was me, I would want someone to tell me.

I always use the old fashioned oat meal and cook from scratch. The over-processed microwave kind and the instant have no food value left in them.