It's all in the psychology one uses.
For instance, I know a woman who will tell her husband outright that she is meeting her lover for a passionate rendezvous, when in reality she is driving seventy miles one-way to buy fabric. This approach won’t fool the seasoned quilt-husband. He knows what her real plan is, and he’s bound to comment on it.
The first thing a Quilt Savvy Souse will do after the car pulls into the garage isn't to look under the seats for suspicious hotel receipts; it's to check the trunk for evidence of lint. He's not the guy from whom you can hide the spoils of a successful shop hop, then casually pull out a significant amount of yardage with an “oh-I've-had-this-for-years” wave of the hand. He's hep to those amateur tactics.
I have come up with a new approach. Let's seminar about that today.
First off, we are all aware that a man can have thousands of tools in his workshop, perhaps even possessing several hundred that he will only use once or twice in his lifetime. He considers them necessary because of the time it saves having them handy when he needs them. You can see the correlation. Having a large stash of green fabric is not a luxury. Vines and leaves are in right now. Green fabric is a necessity, and having plenty on hand - well, you get the picture.
Let's move on to magazines. They not only keep the handyman abreast of all the new tools and techniques, they serve as a source of motivation and inspiration for future projects. These are identified as "Projects I Will Do When I Retire". He claims it only makes sense to get the tool now so he won't have to buy so much when he's retired and on a fixed income. Goose, gander. The same goes for keeping a selection of solids on hand, and adding to it regularly. Someday we plan work on a series of elaborate Amish masterpieces. Furthermore, we keep the magazines hosting the patterns stored in a box with the fabric we’ll use. This puts us one I'm-serious-about-this step ahead of our male counterparts.
My theory continues with notions and gadgets, and scraps and strips of things that we have tried and rejected, but have dared not discard. Chances are, there are similar recitations from the tool man – carefully preserved pieces of dowel, and baby food jars filled with screws and bolts. I'm not telling you anything new. Most of us have pointed out the comparisons I've described here, or transposed them into “hunter” or “golfer” vernacular. They are time-tested and effective. Unfortunately, the strength of our argument wears off between quilt shop visits. We have to go over it again and again with the poor dears. It's hard not to be condescending, but guys can be so myopic about these things.
I have developed one powerful offensive tactic, and I'm willing to share it with you. It's not the usual tit-for-tat tutorial we need to repeat over and over again.
“You know, it’s like the new nine iron you got, because you said it worked better with your new putter.” Or:
“It seems to me we discussed the enhanced value of your new shotgun when you raised the subject of a $500 coon dog.”
No, a good defense is a powerful offense. All you need is a mere sentence, nodding towards the home woodworker’s/golfer’s/hunter’s love of power tools/clubs/guns.. It should be formidable, but delivered in a lighthearted tone. It will end all speculation about the damage that could have been done to the family budget, and will put an entire day's worth of fabric shopping into a more global perspective. It is a statement that may even elicit a sigh of relief.
All I say is, “Hubba, I'm home! I didn't buy a new sewing machine today!”
Hubba immediately glances over at the Viking on the dining room table, and the Featherweight in the corner of the library. He scans the family room for the old treadle machine The Peg gave me, and recalls the leaden Commodore in the basement. I see his shoulders release the tension they’ve held all day, and he seems relieved.
“Well, it sounds like you had a good day. Shall we go out for dinner?”
There. It works like a charm, and you’ll enjoy similar results.
My job here is done. You’re welcome.
© Copyright 4/23/2005 KEOB revised 9/2/2006
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