I only share because I care
When I die and am made a saint (both events as likely as each other), I will be made the Patron Saint of Telling People They Have Food In Their Teeth And/Or On Their Face And/Or Have Sat In Something Unsavoury. And yes, I probably need to work on the wording a little...
Not everyone thanks me for this community service, however. After five minutes of, say, me pointing to the corresponding Troubled Spot on my own face and then, say, attacking the other person's face with ye olde saliva-dabbed tissue, some people end up more angry than grateful. They start treating me like I, myself, had made up the fact they were wearing their dinner on their face just so I could coat them with my spit.
Still, as someone who often unwittingly looks like I've just exfoliated my cheeks with tomato paste or deliberately fashioned myself a tail out of toilet paper, I think it's better to be told than not to be told.
And so when I see something to tell, I tell.
Why, just the other day, I was parting ways with a friend outside a restaurant when I noticed she had something stuck to the back of her dress.
"Um, I think you've got something stuck on the back of your dress," I told her.
"You're the third person to tell me that today. It's the dress label," she explained.
"Oh!" I exclaimed, visibly relieved. "You see, I kind of wondered if it was a used panty-liner. You know, how they look when you roll them up really small just before you put them in the lady-bin. Sometimes I wrap them in toilet paper too, just to avoid a situation where they end up stuck to the sole of my shoes and... '
I stopped because my friend looked horrified. At first I thought it was because I'd gone all TMI on her, but then she said: "Those three people to tell me were all good friends so god knows how many other people noticed it... AND THOUGHT IT WAS A USED PANTY-LINER."
And with that, she walked off muttering something under her breath about damn dress designers and their avant-garde label placement. Of course had she hung around, she would have witnessed my own moment of glory mere minutes later when I attempted to pay for something with the (unused) panty-liner that I keep in my wallet for special occasions. And yes, by ‘special occasions,' I mean almost any time I try to take anything out of my wallet. Good times.
Anyway, the point here is that the pointer-outer-er so easily can become the pointer-outer-ered. We are all in it together, people. I mean, if one person looks bad, we ALL look bad. One person's milk moustache is EVERYONE'S milk moustache. That's my creed and I'm sticking to it...until it comes to visible menstrual or bladder leakage, that is. That's when I cover my ears and close my eyes and go "La-la-la-la-la-la-la" until the situation goes away. I may be a Patron Saint but I sure as hell ain't no superhero.