Let’s make Loony Pants!
Looks like the urban farmer’s got time on her hands again. Saturday she jets off to visit the in-laws and the old C.P.s are starting to sag. The elastic is losing its ‘lasticity. New C.P.s are in order. Options are:
1. Purchase new on sale at a rock bottom price at Macy’s or JCP.
2. Flip through the offerings at V.V. until a likely candidate emerges.
3. Craft a new pair.
Guess what option our urban farmer goes for?
Only, at present she seems to be short on cotton fabric lengths of a C.P. appropriate nature. But she does possess several bits and drabs left over from other clothes-making adventures. Our urban farmer hates to see things “go to waste.” She likes to “use things up.”
She does her best to tamp down the usefulness urge, the need to “make something,” especially when made from throw awa—wait! Stop! Don’t do that. Throw away is not in our urban farmer’s lexicon. Saaaave it! Please. Don’t throw out that moldering picnic table cloth, those holey jeans, that handkerchief, that frayed shirt!
Our urban farmer might be able to make something with that. Let her take it back to the sewing room. Play with it a bit. See what sort of useful objét she can make of it. She’s got the frugality gene and she’s got it bad.
Today she is making pied pants. Colorful pantaloons. Loony pants! They’ll be artistic. They’ll be one of a kind. They’ll be unique.
Let’s see what she can cobble together.
She gathers together a motley assortment. A strip from a queen size sheet set cut down to full size after it got bleached accidentally. Yardage from her table and cloth napkin the world project with blue and green and red bird fabric of 2004. 1970s era Girl Scout green from a friend’s mother’s fabric collection. It all looks promising.
Her C.P.s will be labor intensive. They’ll require noggin scratching and imagineering.
They’ll take three times as long to make as regular C.P.s but our urban farmer is determined. She’s going out on the creativity ledge. She’s working without a net. How will the C.P.s look? What will people say? Is she prepared for the onslaught of comments? “Hey there. You. Over there. The human quilt.” Our urban farmer is prepared to keep her face in the neutral position, to remain unruffled.
She will nod nonchalantly. “Yes, I made those,” she’ll say. She will have rehearsed. She has years of practice.
Because the urban farmer also dreams. That people will be taken aback, covetous of her creation. It’ll be North Face jacket all over again. Itchy fingers will yank at her thighs, rip her pants off. They’ll just have to have a pair.
“What? You made those?” People will ask in disbelief. Her face will remain inscrutable. She won’t know if they’re asking because they love them or find them ridiculous. She will hold her ground and bravely answer, yes.