The Blue Beatch

In a final effort to separate me from my sanity, Greta took one last stab at my patience this weekend by revealing a propensity for displaying her ends. Silk on silk doesn't adhere. My carefully woven ends poked up through shoulders, waving their wispy tendrils along wrist bands and side seams, like Tea Party placards. I wondered, "Does silk compost?"

There was nothing for it but to visit the fabric store for blue thread. I spent Saturday night anchoring those errant plies to Greta's private side. Sunday I added two toggles, a finishing steam and worked it over with the lint roller. Yesterday, I gave her to Brenda.

She's a beautiful thing. But I fear she is not filled with white light.

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