Monday, December 10, 2007

Thank Goodness They Were Out of Glitter Lettering

We work meticulously!

We are making our own Christmas stockings, at the DNB's request. I think it's a fabulous idea; that way I can make mine HUGE. We have bought vast quantities of red, green, and white felt, and have each chosen our various embellishments. We are both hunched over the dining room table, sewing.

Although the DNB has collected quite an array of random appliances, he has never owned a sewing machine. "Are you kidding me?" he replies, when I ask. Just in case. Because this is the man with more Gay Points than Richard Simmons. And I'm as likely to own one as I am to never shop at Nordstrom again, so we have to do everything by hand.


"How are we supposed to sew these things together?" the DNB asks, holding up the back and front of his enormous stocking.

"A running whipstitch," I reply, knowledgeably.

"What's that?" He frowns at his needle and thread.

"I have no idea. I just read that that's what you're supposed to use," I say. We both sit with furrowed brows, imagining what a running whipstitch might look like.

The DNB, drawing on his suturing skills, begins sewing methodically. His stitches look good. Really good. "I wish I had a curved needle," he says as he carefully spaces his stiches.

"Yeah, a curved needle would also be good when you're done with this and start making your quilt," I heckle. I admit, I'm a little jealous. He's a man; he's not even supposed to know how to thread a needle. Pacified only by the thought that at least we're bucking all cultural stereotypes, I sew on.

My stocking looks like it was made by a third grader. IN SPECIAL ED. WHO IS ALSO BLIND. My stitches are uneven, and the felt is bunching.

"You're going too fast," the DNB points out, helpfully. "You need to be slower and more careful."

He finishes attaching his faux fur cuff and holds his stocking up to admire it.

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