Or at least that's what my mom taught me. The idea is that a single man should be able to take care of himself in
all matters, even those traditionally considered "a woman's job". When I was single, sewing came in helpful about twice a year, and only under the worst cicumstances. It usually involved me, in a car, 10 minutes from picking up a date, and missing a button. I knew snagging those hotel travel sewing kits would come in handy!
In this age of convenience, it's not necessary for a man to know how to sew. That's what dry-cleaners and tailors are for. But due to some recent home "projects", I've needed to pull this skill out of my bag of useless tricks.
My wife, bless her heart, never got around to taking home economics. She took a million drama classes, and can
mime with the best of them, but building a custom bed for a great dane is beyond her acting ability. You can't pretend to sew.
So here it is, a photo of me gettin' down with some
fabulous pink furry fabric.
Note: I was listening to some hardcore gangsta' rap when this photo was taken.
If you're wondering what this is for, I can't say yet. Sarah's hosting a bachelorette party at the house for our friend
Christine Wu, and has turned my office into an UrbanSweatShop. I can neither confirm nor deny that I've built a lifesize pink
manatee. Shhhhh, it's a secret.
Do-It-Yourself Tip for Metrosexuals: if you have leftover fabric and want to feel somewhat connected to your party roots, you can make a coozie. Although, there's nothing manly about a pink fuzzy coozie.
