The other night I was in the kitchen washing dishes when Jeff burst out laughing.
"You have ..." he could barely get the words out. "You have jelly ... on your back."
It has come to this, my friends. It is not just that I leave a trail of crumbs—inadvertently, unlike the cautious Hansel—wherever I go. Not just that I am unable to bring a spoon to my mouth without dribbling its contents down my chin. Not just that I sleep under sheets more crusted with peanuts and chocolate flakes than a Snickers bar. No, it's much worse -- I now have food that I don't even eat show up on places on my body I can't even reach.