Ode to Shout Wipes

Why, oh why, does the universe exact its revenge on the day you wear a white shirt — the day you must wear the white shirt — by serving you at lunch a delicious, lightly roasted cherry tomato that squirts wildly when you fork it and at supper, a supremely savory plate of saucy angel hair spaghetti that whips pesto in every direction when you slurp it?

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