Jungle Juice

A Conversation in My Sewing Room.

Moi, trying on latest creation.

enter DD.

DD. (voice shaking) “You’re not going to wear that out are you?”

Moi. (piqued) “Why?”

a pregnant pause

DD. “Do you remember when I was a kid, and we saw this old woman with a bare midriff, miniskirt, orange hair and piercings?”

Moi. “No”

DD. (ignores parent as usual and continues) “And you said ‘If I ever get like that shoot me’?”

Moi. (touches flamboyant head apparel uncertainly) “You think its a bit ……”

DD. glances meaningfully in direction of other parent’s gun cabinet.

Now lets be clear about this. DD bought the garish furs pictured below, I merely exploited their jolliness for my contribution to Jungle January.

I wish I could get my assistant to thread machines by the way. He seems to think his contract only covers being a pattern weight and eating bits of my home baked muffins. Showing him the photo only produced a haughty shrug.

DD holds that this is an unhappy cross between Elizabethan and punk. She’s probably right. It shouldn’t be worn by anyone over six years old unless accessorizing an old khaki raincoat tied round the waist with string,  modelled by someone holding a couple of carrier bags stuffed with life’s entire possessions,  who is swigging poteen from a repurposed milk bottle and declaiming Nietzsche at random passers by.

But on the upside, I have developed my pattern for a beret with  yinyangish swirls on the top.

Perhaps in black and white funfur it would look really stylish?  

And after a couple tries I got the bow at the side to sort of work, by backing it with iron on interfacing. So now I know how to do that.

 For reality check, weirdly angled fuzzy hall mirror shot with flash highlighting the dust (yes, must clean that mirror – perhaps with a three tone furry beret shaped duster?)

 my assistant has stalked off in disgust.