Well, I admit this is an entirely new world to me. I am sewing. I got this nice pattern for what I thought was gonna be a simple slapdash affair. Like, crank it out in 15 minutes type thing. I mean, hell, some 18th century caveman (okay, cavewoman) without a sewing machine can do this, I got the benefit of a bunch of books, the interwebs, youtube videos, a 35 year old sewing machine, and a six-pack of Newcastle Brown Ale. What could go wrong? After a couple of beers and a long day of work, I couldn’t understand the instructions to save my ass. Gusset? Whiplash hem? Bodice? Note: Bodice is one of my all-time personal favorite words… I was pretty dehydrated owing to the G__ awful heat.
Well, I think I cut the pattern okay. May have overjudged the (my) size. The damn thing looks like a tent so far. I understand I need to gather the front a little (I can’t believe I just typed that out) but seriously, I look like I’m getting ready to set sail. On these long stretches of seams you burn through thread like nobody’s business, too. I needed to replace the bobbin like 3 times. I admit I have a lotta stitches per inch.
The pattern suggests that everything be sewn by hand. I tell you, Ms. Kannik (the fine proprietor of said pattern) is a sewing-crazed wanton. If I tried to so much as hem this thing by hand I would needs must curl up in a balle and die! Odds Bodkins! Hammer and Tongs!
Well, don’t sew drunk kids. Bad news. Bad news. Ima need to go get some more muslin to cut out the body pieces. I don’t trust my newcastle-laced stitchings. A pun. Beer and sewing. You see?
