I had a thought today about what it would be like if a person were to walk into a fabric store to find two rival gangs fighting over the last bolt of orange taffeta.
I imagine the gangs as little old women, The Canes vs The Walkers. Now, some would think that the canes would have the edge, but, have you seen the way an old woman with a walked can move. Geriatric ninjas.
Imagined taunts from the gangs:
I'll stab you with my seam ripper.
Don't make me baste your ass.
I'll show you a thimble.
I'll pin you like a pattern to silk.
At least I can sew a zipper without the special foot.
Sometimes I find that my mind goes to place it really should not go.
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