At Least It Wasn't a Stain in the Butt

Normally a few flying tomatoes are not a big deal in my kitchen. They are cleared for takeoff and landing, and visibility is pretty good on most days. True, I was considering installing an Anti-Ballistic Toy Defense Shield at the perimeter when the boys fired a plastic golf ball right into my homemade spaghetti sauce last year. (An amazing shot that could have been showcased in any number of teen movies.) But generally I figure I have good reflexes, and a golf ball doesn't look all that different from a meatball when covered in sauce. Has anyone died from eating a golf ball? I think not! But the other day the tomatoes flew out of my omelette pan and made a mess on the floor. I hurriedly wiped it up because the 3-year-old and I had to pick up the 5-year-old from school in a few minutes, and then rush him to his first ever piano lesson. We were meeting the teacher that day, so I even checked my appearance in the mirror. Well as we were walking from the van to the school pickup area I looked down and noticed a large, bright red-orange splotch on my knee. It sort of looked like maybe I had regurgitated a bloody mary. It was reminiscent of Curt Schilling on the mound for the Redsox (bloody ankle) or Mickey Mantle running to first base for the Yankees (bleeding knee). Or, basically, like I had just been shot and had forgotten to go to the trauma center. How could I not notice this? Well obviously I didn't look down at myself as I rushed out of the house. I only get a chance to look down at myself every couple of weeks or so, and this wasn't one of those times. Plus there was no way I could change or even attempt to get the stain out without clinging to the hood of the van as we negotiated an automatic car wash. Too bad I don't fit into the boys' clothes, but there you have it! I would have to meet the piano teacher looking like a member of the Lakeland Hillbillies. I was wearing jeans of a powder blue color, too, which really showed off the stain. Could I pass it off as a vegetable-based tie-die project? Doubtful. Not without matching relish on my shirt. What to do when we reached the lesson? Explain I'd been attacked by a local panther in the driveway but fought my way to the piano lesson anyway? Talk to her from a hunched over position while I covered it with my hand and arm? Tell her I got Spaghetti-Os at the McDonald's drive through? I should have been focusing on my son's future as a Musical Prodigy, and instead I'm obsessing over a stupid food stain! Fortunately there are maps in the car. The teacher didn't even ask me why I needed a Giant Atlas of Florida in order to find our destination. Is this why they don't serve Spaghetti-Os at the pre-Oscar telecast parties?