My mother would be so ashamed of me. (Hi, Mum!) This isn’t how she brought me up. Yet, when it comes to sewing, all the rules of tidiness go out of the window.
Take, cutting out. No, really, take it – such a tedious job. I work on a cutting mat, circling the table with my rotary cutter, muttering curses under my breath. As I work I like to cut away parts of fabric that have become unusable scraps. Yeah, get ’em out of the way! Where shall I carefully place them? Oh, I know! Over my shoulder in a throwing motion so that they land, forgotten on the floor. Where they will remain until I skid on a piece of fabric and spend the night in A&E. (It hasn’t happened yet, but it will, it will…)
Then there are the threads. I could show you a photo of my stairs carpet, but I’m too ashamed. It’s like a neighbour’s cat came and rolled around and then coughed up a few fur balls. Dis. Gust. Ing.
The threads get lonely on the floor, so I let some pins keep them company. I’m good that way. I have found pins in my lawn, my rugs, beneath my bum on the sofa, in my bed, stuck in my dressing gown. I’m just waiting for the day I remove my underwear and discover that … oops. (I KNOW this has already happened to some of my readers, so if this is you – fess up!)
It’s not just the small things. My overlocker that I love and cherish? Yeah, I don’t cherish it that much. It lives on the floor, when it’s not being used.
I’m not even going to talk about what happens to my knitting when I’m not knitting…
Basically, I’m a drunk, a tramp and an unfit mother. (To paraphrase Dallas – there are other classic quotes here*.) My home is lovely, as long as you don’t look at the floor. Then, it’s traumatic.
What about you? Do you toss or are you tidy?
* You know, Sue Ellen, I do believe you’re going ninety miles an hour toward a nervous breakdown. We’re going to have to do something about your ravings.