My house looks like a large quilt exploded all over it.
A large quilt that was unpicked several times first. Quilt warfare.
My mother said, "Don't worry about it."
But that is because (ha!) her house has never looked like that. It's like a law or something.
Yesterday I ventured out of my sewing room for an hour or so (had to get more fabric), and happened to look down and noticed bits of thread all over my breasts, which is only a turn-on to a very select group of people. Unfortunately, my husband isn't one of them. I asked.
So instead of ravishing me, David played secretary to me last night, sending out emails and editing the hospital benefit program. Whenever I would say, "Could you send an email to this really important person and make it sound like I am serious and need action right away?" he would do it, just like that. Or if I said, "Reply to that lovely person and make it sound like I am totally excited and super grateful" he would do that too. Let me tell you how powerful I felt.
Meanwhile, I was working on my quilt. Adding more borders for good measure. Because, good heavens, that is all I do, and that is all you have to do if you keep unpicking. Which I am going to stop doing. Soon.
Occasionally, when I'm quilting, I stop and look at what I am doing and if you happen to walk by at one of these moments you really should say how marvelous you think it looks and how hot I look with thread all over my chest, because I really need the praise and I'm seriously this close to cracking.
David looked up from his secretarial duties and said, "Don't you think you could have stopped at that brown part. It's getting really big." And for the record, his eyebrows said that "really big" was actually a bad thing.
Which might have been okay if he was married to a sane, well-rested woman with no time or effort invested in said quilt.
But he is not.
He is happily married (thank you very much) to a woman who has a nearly intimate relationship with her seam ripper these days.
Doubt reared his ugly head. And was quickly followed by despair, angst, and freaking out.
I looked around briefly for my towel and my white flag, but they were both buried under discarded and unpicked remnants of other versions of this quilt.
So I headed for bed.
I know when I'm beat.
This quilt has finally gotten the best of me.