Food for Naught

I like eating, at least as much as I like food. Unfortunately I am not very good at it. I've got better, but it remains one of the things that frustrates me in daily life. Now I am one of the messiest eaters I know (although the messiest has no physical disabilities as an excuse).

The most obvious manifestation of this difficulty is when I have spilled something without knowing, and the dried stain marks my clothes thereafter. I didn't want to spill food in the first place, and now I have a badge of shame that I didn't even know about, and won't see unless someone points it out.

There stains are horrible. I don't so much care about the spill, it's just something else to go in the wash, but I hate going out oblivious to food accessories on my clothes. 

Soon after I had the strokes, I couldn't care less; that I could feed myself was enough. Now, though, I loathe the idea that I might be thought the sort of person that would leave the house dirty.

That conflict between my capability (sometimes I spill food, and can't see it), and my self image (I would not go out stained with food), seems irreconcilable. I don't want to accommodate becoming someone else, so I just have to wait and work until I get back to the ability to eat without spilling food. In the meantime, if you see me wearing food, let me know: I haven't seen it.