Here in the backwater of Montana, I pay very little attention to trends, although the one where people were knitting chicken sweaters did make it to my Facebook feed. (File that under "things I would not be caught dead knitting." Our chickens are warm enough.) I don't follow fashion trends, either, except to note that scuba knits are very popular among sewists right now. Those haven't yet made it to our fabric stores—give them another six months, by which time they won't be trendy anymore—so I am not sure what the fuss is about.
However, I have DD#2, who works at a major retailer and is on top of all the latest. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't know that faux fur accessories are all the rage right now. She texted me the other day and asked if I would make a new seat cover for the little chair she uses at her makeup table. I picked it up at a thrift store in Idaho a few years ago and it does need a new cover. She specifically asked if I could make it out of this:
As the mother, it is my job to make my children happy even if it involves fabric that looks like Muppet road kill. I will do this project while she is home over break. I told her that it was her lucky week because faux fur is on sale at Jo-Anns for 60% off starting today. I went on a reconnaissance mission yesterday to make sure they had what she wanted. The "Faux Long Hair Grizzly Fabric" in cream looks like it will be suitable.
The husband, being a man, has always been rather oblivious to the finer points of being a woman. (I don't wear makeup or trendy clothing, so I am a lousy example for him, although I do have a pair of high-heeled black leather boots that he nicknamed my "suicide boots" because he thinks anyone dumb enough to wear those in Montana in winter is asking for a broken ankle, or worse.) I sometimes think that—with a wife and two daughters—he is baffled by all the estrogen he is surrounded by. Just before Thanksgiving, I met DD#2 at Nordstrom, where she works, so we could have dinner at Nordstrom Cafe. I was a few minutes early, so I went to the women's lounge to call the husband and check in:
Me: I am calling to let you know I got to Spokane.
The husband: Where are you?
Me: I'm in the women's lounge at Nordstrom.
The husband: Where is that?
Me: It's part of the restroom.
The husband: There's a lounge in the restroom? What do women do in the lounge?
Me: Breastfeed, call their husbands, touch up their makeup, have important meetings with other women, that kind of stuff.
The husband: That explains why women always go to the restroom in packs.
Me: Yes. We have lounges. All you have is urinals.
The husband: I had no idea.
It goes without saying that I like being married to a manly man. Now that I have two little boys in my life, I am even more convinced that some of these differences are hard wired. When Ali's little guy comes over, he and the husband watch heavy equipment videos with the exact same rapt expression on their faces.
All of my plans for this week went out the window. I got another e-mail from my former supervisor asking if I could pick up some overflow work. There has been enough that I've worked Tuesday, yesterday, and I am working again today. The extra spending money—along with my pianist pay from the Lutherans—is a nice Christmas bonus, but I'm not getting much else done. I honestly don't know how I used to fit a full-time job into my schedule. I'm doing them a favor, though, so my supervisor has routed me the easier dictators.
And although I have the new Mac sitting here in my office, I can't set it up until I am able to take down the PC and move the old Mac. Theoretically, I could have all three computers set up (I have enough surface space), but it will make it very crowded. I'll have to think about this a bit. I don't want to leave the PC set up if I am using it only infrequently.
I am obsessed with this music video:
It popped up in YouTube the other night. We had been watching clips of commercials and cartoons from the 1970s and reliving our childhoods and needed a palate cleanser. The YouTube feed on the TV downstairs is pretty well slanted to stuff the husband watches, unlike the feed on the upstairs TV, which is full of sewing videos. I was completely sucked in by the sound of this guy's voice, and then I had an epiphany and said to the husband, "Please don't tell me he is the lead singer for a heavy metal band," but of course he is. The husband is a big fan of heavy metal (I can't call it "music," sorry), and I don't care as long as I don't have to listen to it. I don't force him to sit through Beethoven. This guy's voice, though!—it's like melted chocolate. I think it's sad that he uses such a beautiful voice to scream into a microphone.
Those clips from 1970s TV are pretty funny. I wonder how we all managed to grow up without becoming sociopaths.