Hemming and Hawing

I believe I mentioned in my last post that I'm running out of sewing time for our trip to Europe next week. So instead of hemming the evening gown I made that's been lying around for about a month, I went and started another dress.


This silk fabric, that I bought in Paris a couple of years ago, has been really bothering me. It's because I wasn't confident enough to cut into it, and I finally said the hell with it!


Actually it's almost a crime that someone like me should be allowed to have such lovely fabric.


I know the do's and don't's of silk but it was still a bitch to work with. I tried so hard to keep everything on the straight and narrow but this stuff shifted all over the place!!!


Anyway I thought it would be best to use it on something that's worked for me in the past. So I remade my Burda 07-2007-120.



It still needs to be hemmed (and lined) but here it is.


And let me tell you it's being held together by a wing and a prayer! I ripped the bodice apart three times (and it's a simple bodice). It just goes back to the silk thing!


I made Hans help me with the shoulder strap adjustment and he asked, "Don't you still have to hem your other dress?"


"Yeah? So...?" from me.


"Well why would you start another dress if you're not done with the first one?"


"Because I have a bug up my butt, that's why!" (And it has nothing to do with perimenopause or PMS!).


"Well, we're leaving on Wednesday, do you suppose that bug will be gone by then?"


"Probably not, so don't worry about it!"



And so it goes.






Yesterday I was worried about Wilbur. He was so quiet, and spent more time than I felt necessary, sleeping.


Well he more than made up for it today! He turned somersaults when let out of his crate this morning, and even after two walks he was full of beans (and toots!!! GAG!!!) into the evening.


This picture doesn't do him justice, but his whole hind end is up against the back of the futon while his head is on the seat.





But get this; tonight at bed time, I asked Hans if he'd please give the little bugger one last potty break before we go to bed.



I heard a commotion and then Hans came back into the room in a very meek manner and said, "He doesn't want to go out," and then Wilbur crawled up on the futon beside me and started snoring.



"Who the hell wears the pants in this house anyway?" I shouted. "You or the dog?"


I then pushed Wilbur off the futon, dragged him down the steps, and marched his ass up the street. He then took a huge healthy pee, while I stood beside him, in my pajamas, and watched.


I made sure to steer him away from the used syringe (I should take a picture!) that's lying right outside our door, and I wasn't in the mood to worry about drive by shootings. Earlier this evening I'd watched a big scary man with a big scary (yet majestic) pit bull walk past, and tried not to worry about them either.


Wilbur is now dreaming (and kicking) beside me and Hans has acknowledged that I wear the pants in this family!



Somehow this doesn't seem right!