Trying to save a buck, I decided that I would make my own clothes with my sweet new sewing machine. I had great vision: tank tops, skirts, shirts...and eventually pants (then they might actually fit the junk in my trunk). However, great vision doesn't amount to much when coupled with amateur talent.
One day I drove 2 hours to Skowhegan because I heard about a cheap fabric shop. (often times I overlook the cost of driving to get something on sale or discounted...a major fault of mine) I, of course, had to stop at Walmart to get some patterns. Ideally, I wouldn't need a pattern but my past sewing sans-patterns was pretty unsatisfactory. At Christmas I tried to sew a snowman out of scrap fabric. I was overly cautious on the sizing and he turned out to be more of an egg man...then I threw him away.
Patterns. They never work for me. The first pattern I attempted was a 2 hour-pattern. It took me 3 days. Not to mention that I am such an odd shape. Depending on where I measure I am size 14, 8 or 6. They never work for me. But I keep trying, hoping for different results. Yeah, the definition of insanity at its finest.
I'm convinced that I will eventually create a breath-taking clothing item that American Eagle, Victoria's Secret or Ambercrombie & Fitch will pay me for the pattern...then I'll create a sizing chart that makes absolutely no sense to society and I'll be the only one who looks good in the item.
"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout," --Kip
I had a shirt nearly finished when Sam came home from work one evening. Ecstatic about my new item, I pulled it on. Sam's face shouted: "Clear the runway, she's about to take off, folks!" My cap sleeves were anything but a cap...they were wings. "Tara-dactyl" wings.
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