A crisp summer evening (did I mention the climate here SUCKS?) in the perilous region of the city known as “Downtown”. This is the natural habitat of the stylish and hip, such as the Selfish Seamstress, but an area I usually view only as on safari, through the glass of the train windows.
I arrive early, having allowed myself both getting-lost time and finding-parking time, and end up needing neither. There it is, the appointed coffee-shop, lurking in all its trendy glory (and it’s open late). Such places used to be my stomping-ground, back before domestic bliss replaced teenage angst, back in the days when I, too, lived Downtown. I take up residence on one of the several benches outside, and pretend to play with my ipod. Mostly, I am watching.
My thoughts race back to the chance comment left on her wonderful blog, months ago, that revealed my general location. Although I read religiously, I rarely comment since there are usually fifty or more comments before mine that have said everything that could possibly be said. My surprise at receiving an email a few days later admitting to being in the same general vicinity (and shopping at the same depressing fabric-store chain). This when I had no idea we even shared a country! A few more emails, and by a miracle we are even in the same city! (Not such a big miracle, as it’s the largest city in the province). In fact, we are associated with the same University, although in very different departments and at very different levels.
And then—there she is! So petite and stylish and elegant in her Hikaru Jacket and her Jalie Jeans! Her topstitching makes me want to cry. She shows me the nearby newstand that carries Burda (my first Burda Magazine!)… and buys me a hot chocolate! (made with melted chocolate! With whipped cream!).
She gives me patterns. Including THIS one! (Since she never actually made the dress, I assume she decided it fell into the Frumpy category. Nevertheless, it is a charming gift, despite the fact that Her Selfishness buys patterns in the 6-10 size range and I normally fit a miss’s 12 😉 )
We talk about sewing, and dance, and sewing, and driving vs. not driving in cities, and sewing, and (amateur) modeling, and sewing, and how we started sewing, and cell phones, and sewing, and not having real-life sewing friends, and sewing, and…
all of a sudden it is ten o’clock at night. The handsome Dan comes and plucks the Selfish Seamstress away, and I drive home in a floaty haze of happiness, cradling my Burda in my lap. And yes, it is sometime on this drive home that it occurs to me that we took no pictures.
The next day, still on a brush-with-blogging-and-sewing-greatness high, I traced out this jacket… and we all know how that went (it’s currently wadded in a ball under my bed, waiting for resuscitation).
It wasn’t until later, in the cold light of Wadderville, that it occurred to me to wonder about the Selfish One’s motivations. Obviously she could not be really enjoying my company. This concerned me quite a bit. But then it dawned on me… The Selfish Seamstress may have no friends, but she adores flattery. And really, aren’t I the perfect agent? My sewing skills are no match for hers—I am far below the level of a Nemesis—and I am perfectly willing to gush more-or-less endlessly over her sophisticated creations. And if I do grow boring, or stalkerish, or too demanding, well, she’s leaving the country in a few weeks.
Which means my brush with greatness will remain just that—a brush. But I can now say it, the way my Grandma still talks about having tea with the Queen as a little girl… I once had hot chocolate with the Selfish Seamstress!
And, as a bonus, her shout-out (besides bringing unprecedented hit-numbers to my low-key little blog here) brought to my attention the fact that an old friend from my dance-costume-making days, whose skillz (especially in the finishing department) I have long admired and envied, has started her own blog, Blood, Sweatshop & Tears! Nifty!
So if you did come here via Her Selfishness, thank you for taking the time! And if you didn’t, well… you can always say you knew me first! (LMAO)