Drips

Have you ever looked down at your shirt or your pants
And noticed some glaring new stains?
You think to yourself - I enjoyed what I ate
Yet I'm sorry to see its remains.

I try to be careful when eating a meal
Or consuming a treat or some snacks,
But once in a while, I let down my guard
And can see all my diligence lacks.

For there on my pants are two neon pink drips;
Must be from my raspberry cone.
I thought I was careful but obviously,
I'd entered the slob-ID zone.

I'm sure there are plenty who know what I mean -
You've dripped olive oil or some sauce;
It's always a splotch that will never come out -
A food that will show you who's boss.

So you dab it with water, scrub it with soap,
Use Clorox from bottle or pen,
And finally shrug and admit your defeat -
An article ruined again.

You vow you will never repeat this mistake,
You carefully lean on your plate,
But something distracts you and here come the drips -
It's hard to compete against fate.

There must be some people who learn to steer clear
Of all food that can cause such a drip,
But I'm not among them and I wish they'd share
Their clean-as-a-whistle-type tip.

Most likely, they're skinny and proper and prim
And almost compulsively neat;
But their secret, of course, that the world does not know,
Is that they never let themselves eat!