Cutting and stitching, dancing and eating
I decided on Sunday, in my infinite wisdom, complete with almost-perforated eardrum (there was passionate nose blowing involved, caused by regurgitation, induced by alcohol – but I’ve made the executive decision not to go into any further detail, to preserve what is left of my tattered dignity) to finally embark on my little home décor project.
I recently acquired a new bed, the last one having served for 17 years. And so I needed to purchase a headboard. I duly went to investigate prices and availability, a fruitless and frustrating exercise, and thus my little project was born.
Buying the fabric was the easy part. Many happy hours were spent at granny’s house cutting and stitching, dancing and eating, and generally making the best of a bad situation. I arrived, kids in tow, to 3 functioning sewing machines. I left with only one still working, and granny gamely trying to smile (having spent all of her Sunday supervising me) and trying to convince me that these machines are temperamental and will play up from time to time.
In approximately 7 hours, I managed to produce one cushion, and that was only with a large amount of assistance. I proudly transported the cushion home and placed it in the dining room, in full view as you come in the kitchen door. I was expecting to bask in the warm approval and approbation of my loving spouse. But still I wait. I have since moved the cushion to the bedroom, propped up on his side of the bed where it will eventually hang, directly behind his pillows. No word as yet. I suppose I should be grateful because he might have asked why there’s only one, forcing me back to granny’s to break the last lonely machine, which, let’s face it, I am going to have to do when I make the matching cushion.
Not for nothing did I opt for cookery over needlework at school.