On Friday I decided that I hated my book. Totally unrealistic and pointless. Who time travels? No one. I don’t personally know anyone who’s ever time traveled even a few minutes, let alone 400 years. So, in an effort to make valuable use of my time, I decided to sew pillows. (My mother, a gifted seamstress would have been so proud.)
I went to the fabric store, found fabric, cut fabric, paid for fabric, came home and put fabric on Natalie’s bed, pleased with how it coordinated with the walls, bedspread and lampshades.
Natalie comes home from school and discovers fabric. “What’s this?”
Me. “Isn’t it darling? I’m making pillows for your bed.”
Natalie. “No thank you.”
“I don’t want fancy pillows on my bed.”
A pointless argument ensues and ends with, “I’ll just put them on your bed after you leave for school.” Followed by, “I’ll just take them off and hide them.”
All this finding, cutting, paying and arguing has not been a valuable use of my time. My mother would not be proud. I decided I should stick with characters of my own imagination who would welcome fancy pillows with tears of gratitude.
(Anyone want some fabric?)