Blogging is, for sure. It’s like announcing to the world: This is my weirdness. Come share it with me. Laugh with me. Experience some righteous anger vicariously, and realize that you, dear reader, are not alone in your weirdness.
Does anyone still have a sewing box? I do. It’s incredibly ugly, too. I recently decided to clean it out and have a real, adult sewing box. One where the scissors, pins, needles and thread are all kept. One with a seam ripper and a hem measurer (which normal people refer to as a sewing gauge). One with neat little compartments where all the bibs and bobs can nestle in quiet organization.
First I had to clean out the box.
I have many, many skeins of embroidery floss, predominantly in various shades of yellows and reds. I have no idea why I thought I had to corner that particular market. I don’t think I’m embroidered anything (except the truth) in decades.
Hot on the heels of the floss were several stamped tea towels, waiting to be embroidered. They’ll have to wait at the thrift store now.
Can we talk about needles? The kind you sew with, not the ones you get tattoos with, or the ones you take your IV drugs with, or the kind your friendly doctor sutures your wounds closed with. I have a perfectly good packet of needles, except the eyes, where the thread goes through, is almost too small to be discernible by human eyesight. What on earth is the purpose of such needles? And why do I have so many? People, I got out the crafting magnifying glass, and I can still barely see them. I don’t think a regular piece of thread will fit through them. Was I supposed to be embroidering something with human hair? Or filaments from angel wings? They went out with the tea towels.
Red sequins. There are burlesque shows that don’t have this many red sequins. Plus purple, green, red and black seed beads. These might be related to the sequins, but knowing myself, they might not. And why would these be in the sewing box instead of with jewelry/beading supplies?
Yes, I could start my own craft store. Shut up.
At least I can figure out the handful of tiny plastic skulls. Which is to say, I don’t know why I bought them, but they fall under the umbrella of Halloween. As such, they are a perfectly normal purchase for me. I will never be caught without plastic skulls and a variety of eyeballs–googly, adhesive, or painted on ping-pong balls. (Yes, there was a bag of assorted googly eyes, too.)
The other thing scattered into every nook and cranny of the sewing box was plastic spider rings. I’m going to blame my children for these, even though they’re 18 and (almost) 21, happily enrolled in college far away from my sewing box. I can’t imagine any other reason I’d have dozens of these things, now safely corralled in a plastic bag.
The worst part about cleaning out the sewing box? Now I have to clean out the crafting supplies, or else the items liberated from the sewing box with malinger on my desk, glaring at me, making me feel guilty.
If you don’t understand the weightful glare of a plastic eyeball, you’re definitely less weird than I am. But that’s an awfully low bar to set for yourself.