Or, no good can possibly come of this….
I am beginning to realize that I have a thing for men who view everything as a challenge to be conquered. Now, a certain amount of pioneer spirit, I admire. I do. But I also think there’s nothing wrong (or unmanly) about admitting limitations.
Clearly I feel this way because I do not have a Y chromosome.
Tonight Otto drew a line in the figurative sand and the game could’ve been on, if only I could’ve stopped laughing.
Really, this is all YOUR fault. Yes, you! I posted about my adventures in shopping for king size linens and several people insisted that MAKING a duvet cover out of sheets was perfectly simple. So after a couple of days of walking past the cover that I bought, the cover which was 75% off and perfectly serviceable if you were willing to overlook the freakishly large yellow rose smeared all over it, I decided that I could never put the thing on my bed.
So today I went back to Target and returned the cover.
“Is there anything wrong with it?” asked the sales associate in customer service.
“Other than the gigantic flower on the front? No.” This was enough of an explanation for her. She refunded my money.
I then headed over to the grocery section and loaded up on diet Pepsi with lime. I should’ve gone straight to the checkout, after that. But no. I had to go back and look at the sheets again.
And they had just one king size flat sheet in the cool striped pattern left. And then I found a plain king flat sheet that would go with it, and I thought HEY IT’S PRACTICALLY A COVER and I bought them.
I bought them, conveniently forgetting that I don’t own a sewing machine, forgetting that when I DID own a sewing machine it was a herculean task merely to get the damn thing threaded, and then all I ever seemed to sew with any sort of regularity were my fingers. Because HEY! It’s the fabric I wanted! It’s $15 for two sheets, rather than $100 for the cover (which was, by the way, still RIGHT THERE on the shelf, mocking me with its infuriating full price-ness).
Now, I’m a resourceful sort. I’m sure I can find someone who sews and somehow get these two sheets turned into a duvet cover. I’m not too worried about it. I have the gigantic flower out of the house and I’m feeling pretty pleased.
Well, I relayed all of this to Otto, and he offered to make the cover for me. My pointing out that he doesn’t have a sewing machine, nor does he sew, was greeted with consternation. He knows someone with a sewing machine and how hard could it be? Well. I tried to point out that I assumed it would take a CERTAIN amount of finesse to make it look okay and not, you know, like two sheets stitched together.
And then he threw down the gauntlet.
“I bet you FIVE BUCKS I can make that into a duvet cover!”
Ooooh, five bucks? And here I was hoping he would just demand that I marry him if he gets an A on his Home Ec project.
On the one hand, I am impressed that Otto would volunteer for this decidedly boring and arguably unmanly task on my behalf. That’s love. Or an unhealthy need to reign supreme in all possible life situations. Either way. On the other hand, I believe this is one of the signs that we have settled into relationship middle age, that we are making gourmet-coffee-equivalent wagers on whether or not a random task can be completed.
Okay, okay. To be fair, I believe the point was that I was blowing things out of proportion, insisting someone who can ACTUALLY SEW undertake this project. I want it to look NICE, and have buttons or a zipper or something along the bottom. Otto wouldn’t notice if the two sheets were scotch taped and stapled together (at least from a distance; if forced to sleep underneath it, he might ask why it’s so poke-y), so he doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t embrace his offer with joy and selective blindness.
This led into an extended conversation about how he could sew ANYTHING if he put his MIND to it. He could be making CLOTHES! Why, people used to make their own clothes all the time! Everyone did it! My pointing out that 1) those people had nothing else to do but cook and clean and sew and save the corn from locusts and 2) it’s unlikely that most of them made clothes that other people actually admired was a moot point. In fact, he started talking about making a new suit out of flannel sheets. Because he COULD, you know.
I had a boyfriend in college who insisted that he could fix the sticky rear tailgate of my 1978 Ford Bronco. The window in the tailgate had taken to lowering slantways and then getting stuck. I allowed him to disassemble the tailgate and remove the rear window, then watched as he checked out all of the parts involved and did… something… and then showed me that the window mechanism moved smoothly, now. I thanked him for fixing it and he started to reattach the window. I was walking away, listening to his ratchet at work, wondering how one would know how many turns it would take to get the tension right…
… when I heard the window shatter into a million pieces. Well, that’s how you know when you’ve overtightened it. You find safety glass in your hair.
The first house my ex and I bought had a semi-finished basement, but the previous owners had put down indoor/outdoor carpet in it. We had someone come lay down a nice berber, instead, and then discovered that the doors separating the finished room from the laundry area no longer fit because the added carpet bulk now made them too tall. These were folding doors on a track. My ex took the doors out to the garage and said this would be the perfect opportunity to try out his new power saw.
In his defense, I’m sure the house wasn’t straight, and probably the doors were hung funny to begin with, and I forget how he even managed the cutting because we didn’t have a workbench. But let’s just say that I was not at all sad to leave those butchered doors behind when when we moved from that house.
So, Otto? Darling, sweetheart, love? I adore you and I might even give you $5 just on principle because I’m sure you COULD do it. But you’re not going to. Thank you anyway.
And good luck with that suit.