In Which I Suck at Accepting Gifts
People keep giving me things. I have no idea why they do this and I wish they’d stop. No really, I wish they’d stop because when I get nice things then I have to….have feelings. And be grateful. And do things that come about as naturally to me as giving a camel a sponge bath. If you work in a Middle Eastern petting zoo and regularly give camels sponge baths, please hold the hate mail. IT WAS AN EXAMPLE.
This morning, I was cranky. I’m cranky most mornings, but for some inexplicable reason, this led to a discussion with Hubs on expensive sunglasses and the fact that he buys them and I don’t. I don’t WANT expensive sunglasses, to be fair. My BFF once watched me collapse a stroller one-handed and send my sunglasses flying into oblivion and she remarked, “Oh, that’s why you don’t buy the nice ones.” Damn straight, skippy. However, for some reason, the Hubs felt guilty enough to suggest that I splurge on $50 at Spoonflower.
$50 isn’t a lot at Spoonflower, but seriously? THEY HAVE DOCTOR WHO FABRIC. I’m just going to yell that until the novelty wears off, which might be a while. Buy earplugs and feast your eyes on this:
They have other prints I like a bit more, but I’m all over all of them because DR. WHO FABRIC. Sorry, I’ll try to stop with the yelling.
I still haven’t spent the $50. I felt guilty for wrangling it out of the Hubs, and now I feel guilty because I haven’t spent it. I need to either get a grip on the guilt or convert to Catholicism so at least that way it’ll be useful.
On a more practical note, I’ve chosen my next project. No, not pants — this will involve even more swearing and wrangling, but mercifully, no fitting. I desperately need a new purse, and given that I like the backpack style which I can never find, I’ve decided on McCall 6176, view D which looks like the bottom two pictures here:
Although I’ll hopefully be making it out of something with a bit less childish of a print (I originally wrote “a lot less childish” then decided that was a tall order). At any rate, the instructions are already byzantine and I simply refuse to follow some of them — I’m not fusing regular interfacing on top of fleece, then not interfacing a lining, thank you very much — and so I’m planning to improvise some of this. It should go swimmingly. Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies, as my mother would say.