Last year I wanted to be Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz for Halloween. I saw this awesomely cute 1950s sundress pattern from Vintage Vogue that would have been perfect. Just wear a little white blouse underneath, tuck a stuffed dog in a basket, find some red shoes, and I’d be set as the cutest swing dancing Dorothy you ever saw. Unfortunately I didn’t really have the money to buy the fabric, and then I ended up not going to any Halloween parties because of a conflicting commitment. Since then, however, I have managed to acquire the pattern, the fabric, and the red shoes. All I’m missing is the stuffed dog and the basket, and I’m good to go. Well, and the time to actually make the dress. But I have hopes! High hopes.
This weekend my ambition was to cut the fabric for the dress. Then life intervened. First, on Wednesday I broke the news to Trey that Robert Jordan, his absolute favorite author, had died. Trey was upset, and I gave him a little crap about not being able to share his grief because he hadn’t lent me his copies of Jordan’s books. When I arrived at swing that night, Trey greeted me with an entire shopping bag full of books, not only the first eight in Jordan’s Wheel of Time series, but a few others Trey thought I might enjoy. Trey knows me a little too well. I did enjoy the books, very much. So much that all I’ve done with my free time since then is read. Not a single shred of homework has been done. I did manage to get the fabric, pins, and sewing shears out, but they’ve sat abandoned on the dining room table ever since.
Then on Saturday I decided to go up to Columbus for the swing dance. I’ve been wanting to get up there for some time. I know that traveling a little more is one of the things I need to do to take my dancing to the next level. Plus there are lots of good dancers up there who make it down for our dances on a regular basis. Still, I’ve been dragging my feet about it. The thing that finally got me up there was that Trey was teaching a West Coast for Lindyhoppers workshop before the dance. I do love West Coast, and the chance that there might be enough Westie leads to actually get some good dances was a powerful incentive. So I went, and had a great time. But it pretty much killed any chance of getting anything done on Saturday.
Here I am Sunday night, with a paper to write on Judaism and an obscene amount of Aquinas to read. I know that I have no business doing anything but homework at this point. But every time I walk past the dining room, I see that pile of fabric with the scissors and the pincushion perched on top. Surely it wouldn’t take all that long to cut out a dress, right?