Just A Splash

I could recite a litany of things I do not do well.

Removing stains could easily appear at the top of the list. Both my Mother and my daughter shared the ability to do it easily, efficiently and more importantly, successfully.

However, despite their expertise I know both would agree that some stains are impossible to remove.

There is a certain combination of chemicals that once splashed onto a given object defy removal. Their image lingers sometimes lurking until a beam of light illuminates the spot at inopportune moments.

One of my favorite garments was an off white crepe blouse. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it in a store window and miraculously, both the size and price fit easily into my world.

The first time I wore it a drop, just a minuscule of liquid, consisting of an unknown ingredient, landed slightly below the neckline. Immediately the tiny fleck was assaulted by the little carry on tube every woman has tucked into her purse.

My beautiful blouse seemed pristine until the next time it was resurrected from my closet when I noticed the tiny but obvious circle still remaining for all to view.

That’s when I sought the professional help of a dry cleaner. My cherished blouse arrived back swaddled in plastic yet the vague blotch was no less prominent.

So I surrendered. The stain won as most, if not all, do. Reluctantly but realistically, I said adieu to my beautiful white crepe blouse.

Sadly, I believe the stain of accusations, unfounded or untrue, have equally destroyed a man’s reputation and life.

It is ironic, and tragic, how just a splash of mud lingers forevermore.