The Bag That Nearly Did Me In
She goes by many names. The official one is “Weekender,” of course. And mom not-so-fondly referred to her as “Lucifer.” Me, I tended to favor “f*cking piece of sh*t.” I do have those fancy English degrees, after all.
Now that this construction ordeal is finally over after many months going in and out of time out, I’m learning to love her. She’s lined in one of my favorite shades of pink, and she has a bonus elasticized pocket so that my iPad can be, almost literally, attached to my hip. In defiance of Amy Butler’s instructions, she has a heavy duty separating zipper–we made it work.
On the outside, she’s cute and just a little bit vintage, with pockets on all four sides to provide easy access to a cell phone, lipstick, or pair of sunglasses. There are small feet on the bottom to protect it from getting dirty. Those handles are sturdy, and the piping, though it was a b*tch to sew, looks oh so polished.
Yes, I think I like this bag now. But friends, if you ever hear me chattering about whipping up another of these bags, please remind me of the blood, sweat, tears, and panic attacks (yes, I mean all of these quite seriously and literally) that went into this bag. Remind me that even my patient seamstress mother was tempted to toss the nearly completed bag in the garbage. Remind me that this bag made me question my motivations for sewing anything ever.
And then slap me in the face and take the pattern away from me. Because this one is the last one.