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I never set out to be an obnoxious over-achiever. In fact, I'm quite lazy and I'm pretty certain the over-achiever gene is situated on the same strand as the over-emotional and over-eating genes because I can pack away a bag of Oreos whilst bawling my eyes out with an unparalleled ferocity.
Anyhow... what started as an innocent Halloween costume idea in October 2008 soon became a life consuming quest for the greatest Pirate Queen costume ever to be seen by 20th century man. And by "life consuming" I mean a week and a half of sewing until my fingers bled and until my meager doses of sleep were plagued by visions of the Jolly Roger emblazoned with Fiskars. And by "greatest Pirate Queen costume ever" I mean Greatest. Pirate. Queen. Ever. |
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I actually had a pirate costume designed for well over five years - before the Disney franchise made it explode in popularity - but for one reason or another I hadn't been able to dedicate time or other resources to its creation. But at the end of the summer of 2008, I walked into our neighborhood fabric store to grab a few more yards of some delectable cinnamon brocade to finish decorating the living room (check out the Turkish Lounge page) and a brilliant red, Moorish-looking tapestry started eying me lasciviously, whispering sweet nothings in my ear as I strolled past. I've received this kind of attention from fabric many times prior and so I pretended not to notice; I played coy, thinking it would lose interested and put the moves on someone else.
In the end, of course, my dismissal was in vain. I, being the promiscuous paramour of many a fine fabric, couldn't withstand the advances any longer and so I whisked my new lover home, leaving the brocade to stumble after us, a jilted valentine, still deluded by a hope that his own, unique utility would once again win my favor. But I fell madly in love with the tapestry and unlike some of my other suitors, we became intimate rather quickly. It was more than just a physical relationship: a stitch here and a button hole there. It was a shared vision, a melding of like minds, a synergy of geometry and expression that exploded frantically one night after another until finally, on the eve of October 31st, we were spent.
I had given tapestry my heart and soul. In turn, he changed in all the ways I had asked of him, turning his somewhat tedious rectangular frame into a full skirt, a curved back, a pair of sleeves and pockets. He was even receptive to my suggestion to line him with a rich, ruby silk (but only after I swore there was nothing between us). He took my addition of luscious black velvet as his own and though he smarted when I stitched forty gleaming buttons to his exterior, I think he secretly liked it.
I was proud. He was proud. We had become a team.
I took him out for a night on the town for Halloween. I wore my new skirt with authentic patterned men's 18th century linen breeches underneath. I crafted a white shirt out of fine Italian linen and trimmed the voluminous sleeves in lace. I strutted a corset over the top (scandalous!) made of a pink canvas, boned with steel and hemp. Striped stockings and pirate boots fitted out my feet and a scarf and felted cavalier hat completed my crown. I was so excited that I even accessorized with the keys to the brig, a replica 18th century blunderbuss and a replica clay pipe molded with an image of the the scull and crossbones.
Tapestry was wowed, needless to say. We had a great time together celebrating his transformation. I wish I could say that here the story ends, happily ever after. But unfortunately, as is the case with these whirlwind romances, the fire turned to smoldering coals as quickly as it had ignited into the righteous bonfire that had seared my heart all week.
After we recovered from our flight about town on Halloween, I realized that tapestry had changed so much and that even though I got everything I wanted, I was bored. There was no more creation, no more feverish stitching. No more laughing over our shared dislike of Country Cottage Calico, no more intellectual dissections of the seam allowance of a period Justacorps. It was rote. It was getting stale. And one day during a brief excursion to 39th street to grab a spool of thread, I saw him: peacock blue with fuschia and chartreuse paisleys in a velvet burnout. It was India on acid. It was confident - cocky even - with a shameless sex appeal that I hadn't seen in a fabric in, gosh, three weeks. I had to have it. I bought a yard and brought it home.
Tapestry noticed right away that something was amiss. I cooed over his genteel braid while I maneuvered my new acquisition into the closet but he gasped when corner of my velvet burnout taunted him from behind my back. I knew that tapestry would be devastated after all our hard work together, but I was secretly turned on by velvet burnout's boldness.
Needless to say, things didn't work out romantically between tapestry and me. The good news is that we have since reached an amicable place in our relationship and I think he'll let me take him out again next Halloween once some time has healed our rift. Besides, he's already chummy with velvet burnout after they both witnessed me traipsing through the house with a charming pumpkin colored corduroy...
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