Last week I had the opportunity to grab dinner with two of my good friends from my old office. Thrilled to catch up on the latest news, we took the opportunity to go to one of our favorite restaurants in the city, Le Diplomate.
If you know DC, you know Le Dip. My best friend, Jaclyn, and I used to have a standing, post SoulCycle, brunch date there every weekend, ordering the warm shrimp salad and champagne rose like regulars. Since she has left DC, my Le Dip experiences have become less frequent, but even more cherished. (Jaclyn, please come back!)
So, while perusing the menu over a glass of bubbles, I decided to shake up my order and go for the steak frites. Born and raised in the Midwest, I have been a carnivore since birth. Any opportunity to order a good steak is hard to pass up, and anything you order at Le Diplomate is guaranteed to be good. So, as we eagerly awaited our meal we spent time sharing our most recent, newsworthy information with one another, laughing, gasping, and nodding in agreement. When the food did arrive, it was nothing short of picture perfect (although we restrained). Now, before I continue, what you must know is that I am a Goddard. Why might that be relevant? Because it means I come from a long line of elegant people who manage to spill at nearly every meal. (Seriously, I think its genetic.) True to fashion, not four bites into my fantastic dinner, my steak did some sort of inexplicable twitch, and, in the blink of an eye, juice was down the front of my jumpsuit. Now, you would think that after 27 years I would be relatively used to this scenario, but I’m not sure a clotheshorse, which I am, ever becomes used to constantly having near ruinous experiences with her most prized possessions. In fact, the possibility of ruining clothes has, at times, pushed me to order two of things, knowing that inevitably one will get ruined. And, (pro-tip) if you’re going to take a picture with me, best to do at the beginning of the adventure.
After a moment of shock, I stayed relaxed, laughed it off, and enjoyed the rest of my evening. Upon getting up to leave the table, I had a two second internal pep talk, telling myself to throw my shoulders back and march home, head high (in reality, its not like anyone is going to notice or care). However, as soon as I was in the door of my apt, I was simultaneously on the phone to my mother and googling to see if there was any way or chance my jumpsuit could be saved. Raising me has given my mother nothing short of a Ph.D. in stain removal. Fortunately, she told me to take a deep breath and run the jumpsuit under ice cold water (I actually used an ice cube). This did manage to get all of the coloration out of the stains. She then instructed me to take a tiny drop of Dawn dish soap (“remember, Dawn is used to get oil off of baby birds, Mercy”) diluted in water and gently rub to remove any remaining grease. By some miracle I was able to execute her instructions and save the jumpsuit. But, the fact remains, spilling and staining your clothes is a fact of life. It may not be something we highlight or Instagram, but it happens to everyone (some more often than others). When it does happen, don’t let it ruin your night, stay chill, keep your head up, call your mother, and always know a good drycleaner.