Sunday, February 7, 2010

sewing parties

Sewing parties are events whereby individuals1 gather together in order to sew things. What sorts of things? I'm not really sure. Probably doilies. Or kittens. Or kitten doilies.

I did once attend a sewing party thrown by my sister, mostly out of accident, but also out of curiosity, and, of course, to be able to write a guide on everything2. I found several beautiful women completely entranced in their needlework. It was a comforting atmosphere. Most comforting, of course, was the stunningly beautiful woman sitting opposite me who refused to speak at any point of the evening, except, when, breaking my heart, she abruptly stood and said she was leaving.

This produced no small amount of stir among the other women. And by "no small amount of stir", I really mean there wasn't a stir. Seeing that she was leaving, and that she was carrying several items, and feeling bad that nobody was going to open the door for her, but mostly feeling some level of hormonal activity, I offered to get the door for her, which, like a gentlewoman, she refused in no uncertain terms. Like an infatuated gentleman, I, of course, ignored her and followed her to the door to see her out. And out from my life walked the beautiful vixen.

Upon returning to the silently sewing crew, I immediately made the fatal observation that she was, in fact, attractive, and was also, in fact, silent. From this point on I referred to her as "Silent Trina"3. Apparently, in some circles, this is considered "making fun" of the individual.

How do I know this? Ahhh, young reader, you should have expected the coming plot twist all along! Months later, when the vision of beautiful bliss had long crossed from my mind, I was invited by a member of a sorority to go on a group date attended by her sisters or chapter or whatever it is they call it.

Picture a room full of gorgeous women. Picture a large buffet line. Picture me exiting the buffet line with food. Picture me running into a beautiful, familiar-looking woman.

We paused and looked inquisitively at each other for a moment. We both knew we had met before. I mentioned I thought we knew each other. She mentioned the same. The buffet line was watching. People exiting were stuck behind me. The entire weight and force of a sorority paused and watched this magical connection.

I mentioned my relationship to my sister. Her eyes lit up. My heart sprung up as I waited in anxious anticipation for her recognition that I was, in fact, the love of her life.

Her lips turned up in an awkward smile, and she began:

"Oh, yes, we met at the sewing party..."

My heart fluttered!

"...and then", loudly, "YOU MADE FUN OF ME BEHIND MY BACK!!!"

As slapping me would have spilled my juice on her, she turned and walked away. The buffet line gave out a collective snicker.

Sewing parties are demonic methods of giving you a glimpse of beauty, then cruelly snatching it away in the most publicly-humiliating way possible. Curse them and their needleworking ways4.

1. Notice how I used the androgynous term "individuals" instead of the more specific term "women"5. This is because I am an enlightened individual, and only display my misogynistic side when not online (or when anonymously commenting on YouTube videos6 with gems like, "i ur a women u lameo").
2. Friends from Middle School who are getting ready to give me a wedgie for confessing this: I live in London. Just try finding me over here.
3. In the highly unlikely event that she ever reads this, I apologize for using your name, and yes, I'm happy for your marriage and/or children or whatever it is you have gone on to do.
4. Apologies for the more-blatant-than-usual autobiographical sketch. I could not, for the life of me, think of an entertaining topic to cover this or last week.
5. I implicitly say women, of course, because back in my day if a man had a sewing party he would not have lived past Thursday gym. Of course, my little brother holds knitting parties wherein skiers make scarves and hats, which, as he likes to claim, is TOTALLY different.
6. YouTube comments are well known to be the realm of the lowest class of humanity, where only people directly in contact with The Beast can appropriately communicate. I have to confess this indiscretion: sometimes I read them. Just to be entertained.


Layne said...

You're better off. She sounds like a joyless nag.

Marie said...

Btw it was a knitting party. No sewing going on at all. and knitting is knot knerdy.