This post will have you seeing stars. Really.
I was seeing stars when I got the material for the shorts I practically finished. It was in a shop in Amsterdam, our summer hols destination, and it was just packed with fabrics I wanted. And I had to limit myself and therefore pinched close my eyes so hard it made stars shimmer inside the lids.
My daughter saw stars too, but only these.
Then I was seeing stars again when I laid out the pattern. This time they were stars of rage. What was she thinking in that shop?! I specifically asked for enough for a pair of semi-long shorts. And this is how they had to look in the end:
All I could get were the leg parts. Not the waist band, not the pockets, not the belt straps. And I really was very careful, trying several times over to somehow fit more pieces onto the star fabric.
So I was reminded again to be careful about trusting shop clerks. At least my daughter thinks her new shorts are cool.
Are jeans makers lazy? Sometimes I get that feeling. Because when you buy a shirt, jacket or cardie the buttons are always sewn on.
Not so with jeans. Instead it’s one of those things you just punch in. Even though most jeans only have one single button.
So what, you might say. Most of the time – nothing. But when such a button comes out, there’s precious little you can do, because it leaves a hole in the material.
So when my daughter’s favourite pants lost the button she was so sorry. Only worn three times which is enough to be impossible to complain about and far to early to discard.
A bit of creative thinking, two scraps from worn-out jeans and my trusty sewing machine later, this was the result:
Only the backside really shows my ingeniousness. The front plainly works. And she is so happy she has me.
As the mother of a teenage girl that’s woth a lot.
Sorry about two things here: The delay since last post and the lack of any snaps in this post. The reason for the former is work and an ambition to meet a ridiculous deadline (failed), for the latter sheer embarrassment.
It’s all about pants. And zippers in pants. So what does that have to do with an English feminist writer? Easy-peasy. Jong’s famous book “Fear of Flying” introduced the “zipless fuck”. Though I confess not to have read the book I have my own interpretation of what she means: When the zipper goes in your pants, you’re f’ed.
Or at least I certainly am. Knowing full well that a new zipper costs 20 times less than a new pair of pants I’m too stingy to ditch my pants and boy a new pair. I’m also too stingy to pay someone else to change the zipper. Now to do it correctly you need to remove the waistband or at least the front parts of it, remove the old zipper completely, baste in the new one, sew it on (and in the process likely as not break a needle) and finally re-attach the waist band.
Not for me such hassle. Cut out the old zipper, pin in the new one and sew it on. Fold in the excess material at zipper top. And last but not least do not let Mum see the sloppy job. Because in my case Mum is a trained seamstress.