Remember that classicly annoying children's storybook about the little chick who runs around asking, "Are you my mother?"
I'm involved in a similiar quest.
I need my friends to come out of the closet and stop hiding from me.
Do. You. Sew?
Do you have a well-oiled machine? Can you hold pins in your mouth and swear at the same time? Do you have a stash? I am hot for you already.
Here's the reason I'm asking. I want to organize a sewing party at my house. I want sewing pals. Sewing together is bliss to me— that crafty orgy high I can't get enough of.
Here's the lonely chick part: I know exactly three people in my life who admit to, and practice, sewing. The four of us could definitely have a good time, but when you're planning a party, the hostess has to invite more than three because the odds are that one and half of them can't attend.
Yes, this is discriminating, like one of those closed-door clubs. You can't bring your dog or your kid, unless they sew. You can't be a wannabe, although I will tell you where to get initiated. You can't sneak over and ask me to alter your jeans. NO FUCKING ALTERATIONS at a party! You have to be sex and sew-positive. Sewing whores are my favorite.
I have a feeling some of my friends and publishing pals are holding out on me. They probably have no idea that I sew, either. I remember finding out after ten years that the author I've published more than any other, Tsaurah Litzky, is a sewing fiend— but dammit, honey, you live in Brooklyn.
So dear readers:
If you and I are acquainted—
And you know how to sew, with your own machine and tools—
And you like to party—
Would you make your foxy self known to me? I have the space, the tables, and a fabric stash that will make you come. You can touch my serger. Email or call for a good time. Even if you can't come this month, I'll put your name on my threadlist, and call you the next time the mood strikes.
Stitch 'N' Bitch Bright
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