Yesterday I McCalled into the Doctor’s Office. We got chatting and he asked if I was a material girl. I tried to downplay it, unpicking myself from my obsession, but he saw straight stitch through me.
He diagnosed me as a Sewaholic.
At first I thought it was all a yoke. I told him that it was in Vogue. He seemed to think that it wasn’t that Simplicity. I zig-zagged around the topic with ease but I could see him measuring me up. He told me not to waist his time denying and I almost went to sleeve. He insisted that it was worse than it seamed. His brow furrowed. He asked me why I was so pinked and I told him that was just the collar of my facing. I was pretty cut that he was taking this so hard. His eyes darted around the room. Then he spoke, “If you’re one of those people with constant pins and needles then there’s nothing else for you”.
He opened a case and pressed a button. A whirring, mechanical sound emanated from his office and suddenly I was pinned down.
He’d gotten the FBA involved.
They told me that denial wouldn’t help, that I should just admit it but that wasn’t my Burdastyle, I had to put my foot down. I draped myself on the floor pleating for them to let me go. I didn’t want to be overlocked up!
They were trying to calm me, Butterick me up but I knew I was hemmed in. I couldn’t placket anymore. My whole fabric stash flashed before my eyes and that’s when I knew. With my whole consciousness hanging by a thread I saw the pattern.
I really did have a problem.