I posted this status on Facebook, and the uproarious laughter that occurred (via emoji) was… uproarious. Because me sewing.
Let me put it this way: I am the anti-homemaker, in pretty much every respect (including all the good ones).
“Homemaker” is defined as “a person who manages the household of his or her own family, esp. as a principal occupation.” Synonyms include “family manager, home economist, home engineer, housewife, lady of the house, mistress of the house, wife and mother.”
”Home engineer”? Really? That’s fucking awesome. Every single woman who stays home to raise her children should put this on their medical forms under “employment.” They should also get business cards made and hand them out every single time someone asks what they do for a living. I’m completely serious, I fully support this.
And can you imagine telling people that you are the “lady of the house”? Yeah, and while you’re at it, tell them to call you “My Lady.” Start wearing petticoats, long gloves and speak in a British accent. Oh, and never hug your children. Just pat them on the heads once in a long while and then dismiss them.
But I digress. Back to my sewing machine.
Jesus, I own a sewing machine.
So, I pride myself on being a quick learner. Ok, I lie, it takes me forever to learn new shit. Because I obsess over every detail, and analyze every bit of information, and therefore go WAY beyond what is being taught because I’m a fucking over-thinker. This is why I’ve always sucked at standardized tests, and law school, and pretty much every discipline that didn’t let you “think outside the box,” and I feel like I’m using too many quotation marks in this post to really be credible at this point.
In any case.
I have all these hems to hem and holes to stitch and thought, “You know what skill would be useful (versus all my other skills)? Sewing.” So I walked into my nearest Fabric Hell and said, “I need a cheap, handheld sewing device that sews everything straight for me without my having to touch it and while I watch TV.” And the salesperson said, “How about a $200, 50-pound eyesore that requires a 3-hour in-class tutorial to learn to use” and I said “SOLD.”
It took me an hour to figure out that TWO SEPARATE THREADS are required to actually do the, you know, SEWING. Then it took me one more hour to thread the goddamn machine. And maybe I watched YouTube videos by someone who most definitely lived in the Victorian Era called “HeirloomCreations” AND MAYBE I DIDN’T. And MAYBE I started drinking and decided that moving parts that included needles were not the best thing to do at that particular moment in time. FUCKING MAYBE. Nothing is certain except death.
It’s only a matter of time before I stitch my hand to something and end up in the ER, but rest assured I will blog about it afterward.
Onward and downward.