:: MYOFB, As The Kids Might Say ::
This is my particular brand of crazy: when I am at a fabric store buying, you know, fabric, I become physically uncomfortable when the cutting lady asks me what I am making. Squirmy. I don't want to tell her. To me, this seems like a huge invasion of my privacy. I don't ask you what color your poop is and I don't want you to ask me what I am going to make with my fabric, OK, lady? I realize that this is completely insane. That doesn't make it any better.
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5 comments:
LOL - I know exactly what you mean! I don't like to be asked either! Thought I was alone on that one!
I can't relate to the fabric context, but I can't stand it when my husband lingers over my shoulder when I'm typing anything. It drives me crazy. MYOFB is right.
Drives me crazy, too. Especially when I was honest and said I was making an Elizabethan court gown. That always got me weird looks and further questions. I should have lied and said I was making throw pillows.
It's funny because I realize now what the F in MYOFB probably refers to for all of YOU, but I was actually thinking of it as "ming your own fabric business." Usually I'm the first one to head right to the gutter but this time, I'm innocent as a forget-me-not or a lily. Fresh as a daisy. Ha!
I understand totally--I feel like I can't tell anyone until it's finished--it's all mine until then, and maybe not even then if I don't like the way it turns out. MYOB.
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