I am walking home from work when I remember that I need an invisible zipper for my most recent WIP. It’s hot, sticky, and overcast. Just like yesterday, except without the sun. Last night’s thunderstorm was supposed to break the heat and the humidity, but it seems like all it did was make a lot of racket and keep me awake far into the night.
My back is sunburned from my recent escapades at the beach, it’s itchy, and the heat is not helping. I do not want to stop. But, I figure a little fabric store duck-in never hurt anyone. It’s too hot to sew, so I may as well buy some things on the off-chance that I ever even look at my ironing board again. So, I stop in my favorite shop on the way home, relish in the momentary bliss of air conditioning, pick up my zip (and about 6 yards of gorgeous, drapey rayon for $3 a yard, but we won’t mention that), and head out the door.
Three blocks from my house, the sky opens up and it begins to pour. I don’t mean a nice misty rain. No–it’s raining so hard I can barely see across the street. If only I hadn’t stopped, I could be home with my sewing machine. I stop for a few minutes under an overhang, but I’m too impatient to spend my precious after-work hours standing on the side of the road as people walk by, safeguarded by their umbrellas. I get bored and figure I’ll make a run for it instead–except I don’t run. Why, oh why did I leave my umbrella at work? I walk the last three blocks home, and in minutes am drenched through my sweater, my dress, even my underwear.
And I am having the best time.
As everyone around me dodges the raindrops and anxiously runs for cover, I stroll home without a care in the world. I hope my new fabric doesn’t get too wet… I’m splashing through puddles, humming a tune, and relishing in the cool droplets sending water streaming down my face and off my eyelashes.
I get home, kick off my shoes, and leave little puddles behind as a search out a towel. Once safely in my bedroom, I peel off my dripping layers, and wrap myself up in the warmth of a robe.
The rain stops.
A cool breeze comes in through my bedroom window, and I turn on the iron again.
Friends, it’s time to sew.