Lori Duff Writes Back to Bibs October 1, 2024
I’m a crafty kind of gal, though one of the things I can’t really do is sew. I wanted to learn, though, and so about twenty-five years ago, my mother gave me her ancient Singer sewing machine. Her condition was that I use it to make her a gold lame bib. Seriously.
At the time, I thought her request was hilarious. But I am nothing if not obedient to authority figures, and so I made the bib. I have no idea if she ever wore it.
Now I’m about the age my mother was when she made that request, and I am here for it. When we cleaned out her house, I ended up with a few random boxes and bags of what was largely crap. I went through them, though, because there were some treasures buried amongst the detritus.
One of the treasures I found was a large, adult-sized bib. It was laminated with some kind of waterproof coating, had a Velcro neck, and a rather artistic black-and-white graphic pattern. I rescued it from its burial place and tried it on. It looked, of course, ridiculous. Nevertheless, I could see great potential, and I left it on our table.
Not long afterwards, we had spaghetti for dinner. I love spaghetti. I love pasta in all its shapes with most of its sauces. That said, I have no idea how anyone eats pasta with sauce and doesn’t get the sauce all over their clothes. So I put the bib on. It didn’t make me a neat eater, but the red splatters of sauce got on the bib, not my dress. Because of the coating on the fabric, I was able to wipe it off with a paper towel.
I was sold. Not sold[1] enough to wear it out of the house, but I keep it at the table, and whenever we eat juicy food I put it on. It has saved me from ruining many an outfit. Yes, my husband laughs at me whenever I put it on, but too bad. I don’t think he understands.
Let’s be honest here. Women have a serious disadvantage when it comes to staining their clothes with food. If a man drops a morsel from his fork while its on its way from plate to mouth, the morsel falls as gravity dictates, straight down. Possibly on his thighs, but more likely on the chair or the floor due to manspreading.[2] But women? Especially buxom women like myself? Well, there’s a body part in the chestular region which is in between the altitude a fork travels and my legs. It’s a shelf, so to speak, designed to catch whatever falls.
I swear to you, I have had to get rid of some of my favorite clothing items because of the staining power of the cooked tomato when it lands on my bosom.
The solution is so very simple. Bibs. We could make them fashionable, pretty even. Holiday themed. Sparkly. There are infinite design options, and if a terrible seamstress like me can manage to make one then someone who knows what they’re doing could do even better.
Women: let’s get together. Let’s make a pact that we’re not going to let form reign over function. We only think a grown-up bib looks ridiculous because it’s not something we ever see. But if we all collaborate and emerge at once with our dress-protectors, we can make this a thing.[3]
My mother was a visionary. I miss her terribly.
[1] Or confident
[2] Real word. See, e.g. Merriam-Webster dictionary definition: Manspreading Definition & Meaning – Merriam-Webster
[3] Unlike “Fetch.” That’s never going to happen.
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Lori B. Duff is an award-winning author who practices law on the side. Her latest book, “If You Did What I Asked in the First Place” was awarded the Gold Medal for humor in the Foreword INDIES awards in 2019. You can follow her on Twitter at @LoriBDuff and on Facebook. For more blogs written by Lori, click here. For more information about Lori in general, click here. If you want Lori to do your writing for you, click here. If you want Lori to help you market your book, click here.
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