Thursday, January 13, 2011
I hate you Martha Stewart
Its not that I am lazy, its that I well remember my attempts at sewing garments for Barbie and her kid sister Skipper in my youth. It did not go well. They ended up wearing an assortment of togas and sarongs. Yes, I understand that basic sewing is simple. I understand that children are able to do it. I also know that I am horribly, irrevocably craft impaired. I've tried to teach myself sewing and knitting for years and the end result usually looks like something a kindergartner would have made. That is, if that kindergartner had free access to vodka and apple juice martinis and no adult supervision.
Mark called while out of town for work and told me "I've bought you a sewing machine. It should be here within the week". Ummm... would you believe that the machine arrived via the post the next day? Nothing ever ships that quickly. Nothing unless it is the Sewing Machine of Doom, then it will defy all the laws of physics and postal ineptitude and appear almost instantaneously upon my doorstep.
Mark called the next day. I told him that what I believed to be the sewing machine had arrived and was sitting in a large brown box on the table. He asked me if I had opened it up to check it out. "No. I am too scared to open it".Mark asked "Why on earth would you be scared? Open it up and get on with it". "I will", I replied " I just need some time".
It took me three days to open the box. Three days of reliving every painful detail of every failed crafty attempt I ever made. Memories of Barbie clothes fashioned out of fabric and embellished with duct tape and safety pins. Memories of the horrible skirt I made for myself in junior high and insisted on wearing because other, more stupid girls were sewing themselves beautiful things and Andie in Pretty In Pink managed to make her PROM dress so surely I could make a simple skirt.. I can still hear the snickers of the more craft abled girls as they appraised my lopsided, badly hemmed garment. which made me appear to have one leg approximately 7 inches shorter than the other.
Time marches forward, we grow up and learn to embrace challenges and we learn to overcome adversity. I opened the box. It was going well until I spotted HER on the box.
'Handpicked by Martha' was inscribed on the box right next to a smarmy, smiling photo of my arch nemesis, Martha Stewart. NOOOO!
Martha Stewart has been stalking me, mocking my ineptitude since the big kid was in preschool. All the other mom's would bring cookies to the holiday parties. Cookies that Martha had showed them how to make and decorate. "Look! I baked cookies in the shape of each child's head, adorned with a pre-Raphaelite likeness of each child executed in Royal Icing and for a little holiday flair, I knitted little cookie cozies from the wool I gathered from my own sheep. What did you bring?". My usual answer was "Doughnuts. Kids like doughnuts. Shipley's does them for $4 a dozen." I would hang my head in shame as Martha's Crafty Minions would prepare to carry out their Supreme Leader's directives at the' Its Springtime and Martha says thats a great time to embroider eggshells in celebration" party.
Cruising was supposed to offer me refuge from this kind of malarky. I am supposed to be involved in a pursuit that places value on my ability to navigate my quickly way to my desired destination no matter how lost I am (seriously, that's my super power). My inate ability to make do with what I have, to adapt, to figure out a solution with only the items on hand, to always be all right in the end- these were what cruising was supposed to value and most definitely, most assuredly THERE WAS TO BE NO MARTHA STEWART!!
I suppose the great lesson here is "that which does not kill us makes us stronger'. No one will be harmed if the berth enclosure is not exactly straight so long as it is strong and well attached. If the port light curtains have an uneven hem, no one will notice. If they do notice, they can unexpectedly meet the boom during a surprise jibe.
Ok. I can do this. I have to do this because I can not live with HER face, smiling from the box on my table. It is creeping me out. The box must go and the berth enclosure must be finished. If I can do this, I can do anything.