, , ,

I sewed myself to my pillow in 7th grade Home Ec.

Well not me, exactly. Rather, I sewed my sweater, which was the same shade of sky blue as the God-forsaken pillow. After helping me de-stitch myself, my home ec teacher patiently asked me if I was planning to stay at home with any future children I may have. This wasn’t an anti-feminist statement but rather, she was more concerned about the possibility of having to call child services if she found a future student whose clothes had been hemmed with duct tape and superglue.

I have never touched a sewing machine again. Hell, I barely even measure anything anymore for fear of miscalculating, buying the wrong thing, wasting money, and then having a random thing in my house that I can’t do anything with and that mocks me. I tend to veer towards an extreme version of neuroses that no one can pinpoint exactly.

Now, this has a lot to do with my current state of affairs. As you have probably followed at this point, A. and I purchased a lovely fixer-upper. We love our home and have spent time and some money trying to make it ours. Now, I have spent countless hours online perusing websites, Pinterest, blogs, and pretending to be crafty to help inspire me. I have no idea what “inspiration” means in this case; however, it may have something to do with no longer working with Ikea furniture that has outlived its expected lifespan. (No dig at Ikea, but I will think long and hard about buying a piece of furniture that has to be put together using only a hex key and an infinite amount of patience.)

The one thing that I have always longed for is a headboard. Sounds silly, I know. In a world of instant gratification, the idea of having a headboard seems silly and small, but to me, it is pure luxury. Furthermore, due to room configurations, the only place A. and I could place our bed was against a window. So each night we fell asleep against an old college pillow I still kept around, and dreamed of falling out the window. Backwards. But being new homeowners, A. and I are counting our pennies. I suggested we make a headboard. I mean, how hard can it be? Right? Then I remembered, we had to measure. So A. and I were careful, EXTREMELY CAREFUL, with our measurements before we trotted off to Home Depot. We paid a wonderful man to cut the wood to our specifications before we then turned around and went to our local fabric store. That is when it all came apart.

The plywood was the right size. The batting, with some extreme stretching, fit. The fabric, which I lovingly picked out and was non-returnable, was six inches too short. I shut my eyes and tried to pull the fabric harder. No dice. There was a mistake.

Now what? We would have to wait until the morning for the fabric store to open and try again. Which is what we did, with our hands full of Dunkin’s coffee. This is how we now spend our Saturdays in the ‘burbs. But at least now we can lean up against a headboard in style. And when I no longer have a fear of sewing machines, I have extra fabric for matching pillows.

Gatsby lounging in style