If it’s already on the market, please don’t tell me.  Something Ann said over the phone this evening made me think of the concept, but I can’t remember what.  As I sketched it, I thought of my father and how he would routinely save a half a meatball in order to sop up the remaining spaghetti sauce on his plate. Invariably, as Spring follows Winter, one drop of spaghetti sauce would land on his tie or shirt.  If he were still with us, he’d probably need one of these: