Bib: (n) a piece of cloth or plastic fastened around a person’s neck to keep their clothes clean while eating.
It is impossible to escape ridiculous.
The only factor even in consideration is whether you’re going to be ridiculous by choice or ridiculous by accident.
Some people prefer being ridiculous by accident. Then they can pull up lame and be the victim of circumstance.
I would always rather be ridiculous by choice. Let me give you an example.
Many years ago, I was invited to be the guest speaker at a banquet. I had just purchased a lovely white suit. Well, actually, at the time I thought it was lovely, but now it would be overstated and draw too much attention.
Yet on this occasion I wore this new suit.
When I arrived for the meal, I discovered that the menu was spaghetti and meatballs.
I am not embarrassed to tell you that it is difficult for me, for some reason or another, to take a sip of water without spilling a drop or two on my front.
It is not an issue of dexterity, but rather, the distance that must be covered and possibly, some of my nervous energy due to memories of previous spillage.
So even though as the guest speaker, I was sitting at the front table, I found a huge dish towel from the kitchen and wrapped it around my neck, hanging down the front of my white suit, to counteract what I was sure would be an avalanche of drippings from my spoon and fork.
I made me a bib.
The towel was ugly. It apparently had been owned by a child and had the picture of a bear eating a bowl of porridge.
I looked ridiculous.
But I smiled through the whole dinner, knowing I had made a good choice.
Especially when I looked down and saw my new little bear friend … completely covered in spaghetti sauce.