Recently I was sewing my friend's suit jacket button back on using only a rusted needle we found on a coworker's desk and dental floss. At first, my friend was skeptical that it could be done, but I took that tetanus-infested needle and ball of floss and showed that button who's boss. And it looked great. You'd never know that it was held on with a personal hygiene product.
As my friend slid her jacket back on and verbally proclaimed my sewing job a success, I said -- and I quote: "Hell yeah! I'm a World Class Seamstress!" To which she smiled and nodded in that oh-isn't-it-cute-how-proud-of-herself-she-is kind of way. But I didn't care, because I had totally rocked out that wayward button.
This weekend I was polishing up a dress I made for Madgette. She doesn't know it yet, but tomorrow an American Girl doll arrives custom made for her. Its the Aggie and my birthday and Christmas present for her. Since before it was even ordered, I've been working on Madgette and her doll matching dresses. (Insert your so-cute-I-could-vomit gag here.)
Well, I had some material over, so I thought I'd make the newest member of the Momma Pug Community -- Preemie Donna -- a ragdoll. I traced out a pattern, cut the material and sewed it up. Then I used some polyester fill and stuffed it up. And what I got kind of looked like the retarded lovechild of the Pillsbury Dough Boy and the Gingerbread Man.
Perhaps proclaiming myself a World Class Seamstress was a bit premature. As I sat staring at the awkward stuffed creature, I racked my brain for a way to salvage all those hand stictches. Surely there was a way to make this ragdoll cute.
Dear readers, I pondered this for quite a while. I thought of adding hair. That just made it look like it look like a DRAGdoll. I tried to summon the wisdom of my great-grandmother Nene, the person who taught me the art of ragdoll making. But nothing I came up with could help this poor creature.
Just as I was about to give up and donate the would be doll to Deuce (who has been stalking it all afternoon), something brilliant in its simplicity occurred to me: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em! I hadn't created an ugly ragdoll at all! I had created a ragmonster! A cute little one-eyed, frowning monster!
I give you Sally the Cyclopes:
I'm not Martha Stewart. I'm Martha McGyver. Or Martha Frankenstein. Either way, I AM the World Class Seamstress I thought I was.
I can't wait for the day when Preemie Donna is all grown up and going through her things and asks her mother, "What the hell is this?" And her mother will say, "Your crazy aunt made that for you." And Preemie Donna will be all like, "Well, what it is?" And her mother will say, "That's Sally the Cyclopes, of course." And Preemie Donna will immediately send me her bill for therapy.
As my friend slid her jacket back on and verbally proclaimed my sewing job a success, I said -- and I quote: "Hell yeah! I'm a World Class Seamstress!" To which she smiled and nodded in that oh-isn't-it-cute-how-proud-of-herself-she-is kind of way. But I didn't care, because I had totally rocked out that wayward button.
This weekend I was polishing up a dress I made for Madgette. She doesn't know it yet, but tomorrow an American Girl doll arrives custom made for her. Its the Aggie and my birthday and Christmas present for her. Since before it was even ordered, I've been working on Madgette and her doll matching dresses. (Insert your so-cute-I-could-vomit gag here.)
Well, I had some material over, so I thought I'd make the newest member of the Momma Pug Community -- Preemie Donna -- a ragdoll. I traced out a pattern, cut the material and sewed it up. Then I used some polyester fill and stuffed it up. And what I got kind of looked like the retarded lovechild of the Pillsbury Dough Boy and the Gingerbread Man.
Perhaps proclaiming myself a World Class Seamstress was a bit premature. As I sat staring at the awkward stuffed creature, I racked my brain for a way to salvage all those hand stictches. Surely there was a way to make this ragdoll cute.
Dear readers, I pondered this for quite a while. I thought of adding hair. That just made it look like it look like a DRAGdoll. I tried to summon the wisdom of my great-grandmother Nene, the person who taught me the art of ragdoll making. But nothing I came up with could help this poor creature.
Just as I was about to give up and donate the would be doll to Deuce (who has been stalking it all afternoon), something brilliant in its simplicity occurred to me: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em! I hadn't created an ugly ragdoll at all! I had created a ragmonster! A cute little one-eyed, frowning monster!
I give you Sally the Cyclopes:
I'm not Martha Stewart. I'm Martha McGyver. Or Martha Frankenstein. Either way, I AM the World Class Seamstress I thought I was.
I can't wait for the day when Preemie Donna is all grown up and going through her things and asks her mother, "What the hell is this?" And her mother will say, "Your crazy aunt made that for you." And Preemie Donna will be all like, "Well, what it is?" And her mother will say, "That's Sally the Cyclopes, of course." And Preemie Donna will immediately send me her bill for therapy.
1 comments:
I must say, it is indeed awesome! I guarantee she will love her cyclops.
Post a Comment