The situation messifies

Candace sat alone, acutely aware of the whispers and stares directed at her naked form. She tried to shrink into her seat, wondering whatever happened to tablecloths.

From across the dining hall, she noticed a young man watching her. He was tall and lanky, with a mop of unruly brown hair and a pair of oversized glasses perched precariously on his nose. Candace guessed the look on his face was concern.

Candace watched, fascinated, as he gathered his courage. He took a deep breath, held his tray just right, and started to make his way towards her, his gaze darting around, seemingly aware of the spectacle she had become.

*Maybe he’s going to offer me his shirt,* Candace thought, a flicker of hope igniting within her. *Maybe he’s going to ask if I’m okay.*

But as he got closer, his nervousness seemed to amplify. Then, in a moment of pure, slapstick clumsiness, he tripped.

His foot caught on the leg of a nearby chair, sending him lurching forward, his tray of food flinging its contents – a heaping pile of mashed potatoes, gravy, a slice of pizza, and a precariously balanced cup of chocolate milk – ascending in a slow-motion arc before crashing down upon Candace with an explosive splat.

The dining hall, already buzzing with whispers and suppressed laughter, fell silent.

Candace sat there, stunned, covered in a sticky, gooey mess of food, her nakedness now accented by a Jackson Pollock-esque splattering of mashed potatoes and gravy. The chocolate milk, in a final act of comedic cruelty, had splashed across her chest to drip towards her navel. She had heard of chocolate mustaches but chocolate chest hair at a time like this is a bridge too far!

The young man, his face now the color of a ripe tomato, stammered apologies, his hands flailing helplessly, as if trying to scoop the mess from the air.

Candace simply put her face in her hands and let out an exasperated sigh of resignation.

This day, she thought, could not possibly get any worse.