Rage Against the Machine
Rally ‘round your family,
With a pocket fulla shells.
And something about a FIST FULLA STEEL!
Not Rage fans? Okay. Never mind. Me neither. We’re more into Raffi now. Rally round your family with a Robin in the Rain. But Robin in the Rain and Baby Beluga won’t make very good background music for my next project.
I’ve decided to smash my sewing machine and serger with a large rusty mallet, cremate their remains and sprinkle the ashes all over the desks of the good people at Butterick!
Who makes a pattern that doesn’t give measurements for sizing?
Who makes a pattern with pleats, a full lining, and an invisible zipper that suggests using sheer fabric?
Who makes a pattern for a butt-ugly sausage wrapper and markets it as instructions for a beautiful dress?
Who thinks that the average woman has breasts that sit above her armpits?
I have never claimed to have a perfect body but I am not:
A) Morbidly obese…yet. (I am currently self-medicating with the Cadbury Mini-Eggs Dan brought home to me along with beautiful I’m-sorry-you-are-a-sewing-failure potted Gerber Daisies.)
B) Freakishly tall (5’6” doesn’t count, does it?).
C) Sagging to the point of needing reality-TV-worthy plastic surgery.
D)10 sizes larger in dresses than I am in pants and shirts.
E)Ever sewing for myself again.
Today has been my sewing nightmare, the likes of which I have not seen since I started sewing 20 years ago. Today is a day that would have junior high HomeEc teachers running for their lives. I swear I ripped out more seams than I sewed. I’m not sure how that’s possible but I’d advise you not to question my logic at this moment. I am currently holding a large rusty mallet, okay?
Today is a day in which I pulled a major pectoral muscle just trying to get out of the straight-jacket I like to call “my Easter dress.” Karli advised me to try icing it before I go into the ER again.
All of its lovely pieces are going into a baggie in the garage where they will await the day that I lose half my body weight , chop several inches off my staggering circus-freak height and get one of those crazy bras that bring my cleavage up to chin-level.
Now I have some demolition* to take care of. Peace out.
*Disclaimer – No equipment will actually be harmed in the process of rage and destruction I am about to embark upon. I love my Babylock and old-school sewing machine with a great love.