In second grade, I learned how to draw horses.
I was pretty awesome at it, and from that point on, whenever anyone in my class needed a picture of a horse drawn, I was the one who did it.
What’s that you are drawing, a horse? The proportions are all off, move!
But, not everything calls for a horse.
Brittany, what is this?
That would be….the last supper.
Right, but it’s just a picture of 13 horses wearing bibs.
It’s a metaphor. Plus, I have trouble with human hands and noses.
Jesus wasn’t a horse.
But the bible doesn’t say he wasn’t not a horse.
I think you should go talk to the principal.
Well, this seems unfair.
I sat on a cold wooden chair in the office of Sister Mary Ellen, a rotund nun with facial hair like my dad, explaining to her why I drew Jesus as a horse, and how my parents had told me that nuns weren’t married because they were all dating Jesus, and while I didn’t know the exact details about how sex works, I knew everyone had to take their underwear off, and maybe she could verify if he was at least a centaur. She lost patience with me after ten minutes and sent me back to class and a note home to my parents.
I was also pulled out of advanced religion, and put back in regular old non-mensa religion. Which essentially meant less memorizing the Apostles Creed, and more cut and pasting animals, two by two, in a giant boat. Except for the unicorns and dinosaurs, obviously.
I think Sister Mary Ellen was just upset she wasn’t as close to Jesus as she thought she was.
There’s always jealousy in plural relationships, just ask Kody Brown. I bet that guy wishes he was a centaur, too.
Artistically speaking, I’ve never evolved past the horse. Or the general belief that Jesus had hooves.
Leading to an adolescence and early adult life that was largely void of crafting, save for the pottery class I took in college, that resulted in a series of failed ashtrays that resembled glory holes.
Today, I am here to redeem myself.
Now, I’m not entirely sure why when I had kids, the part of my brain that was in charge of dressing myself in fashionable clothing stroked out, but from the moment Jude crowned, the majority of our disposable income has gone to our children.
Which isn’t a big deal for Andy, because he can still wear the jeans he wore when he was 20, which is why I took a certain level of pleasure in his post-vasectomy hernia.
But for me, I quickly understood why in all our family pictures I wore a gorgeous homemade dress with poofy sleeves, while my mom looked like an old timey train hobo.
Women are way less selfish than men. It’s actually a fact. I read it on the bathroom wall of the feminist bookstore I worked at for a week in college until I was hit in the face with an umbilical cord made of watermelon jello by some abortion activists as I came back from my lunch break at Panda Express.
For months now, I have been in complete infatuation with the circle scarves from American Apparel.
But, for $28 a piece, I couldn’t pull the trigger. I only recently stopped buying my underwear from the Walmart clearance rack, and relearning to spend money on myself is a process. Somethings have become a necessity due to fluctuating weight, like jeans and bras, mostly due to Andy’s growing intolerance of the mental breakdowns I have in my closet every time I have to get dressed to go into public, that almost always result in my failed attempt to construct a noose out of a pair of Spanx.
Since, accessories have become a non-essential splurge I save for gifts and work bonuses.
So, I decided to make my own American Apparel Circle Scarf. I mean, how hard can this be? It’s making a circle.
First, I went to the fabric store, voluntarily for the very first time in my life. Not that your mom making all your clothes isn’t the awesomest part of elementary school, but the second we walked in, I was total PTSD over polyester rompers and irregular fitting paisley turtlenecks.
I wanted a stretchy fabric with enough length that I could wrap it around my neck a few times, so I bought 2 yards each of pink, heather gray, and green moss colored knit. Priced $4.98 a yard.
The fabric is about 45 inches wide, and comes off the bolt folded in half lengthwise, so keep it that way. I laid the fabric out long ways, then brought the two ends together and sewed them together, creating a seam.
And that was it. Seriously. The entire process took less than 10 minutes.
The end result? My new favorite accessory. Three awesome circle scarfs for a grand total of $29.88.
Are these better than a confiscated picture of 13 horses celebrating the Last Supper? I’m not sure, but I love them.