Yesterday Mary Jean and I hit an estate sale where we could buy entire bolts of fabric for $5 each. Today, while washing the sizing out of yards and yards and yards of fabrics that will go with justaboutanythihng, I started sorting my existing stash. I've got somewhere in the neighborhood of six quilts I want to sew right now. And, as I sorted through, I discovered that I have a lot of pink fabric. An awful lot of pink. In fact, I have something like a metric fuckton of pink print fabrics.
Which tells me that my inner three-year-old has been hijacking my impulse fabric buys for about the last - oh - fifteen years or so. Ah, she heard me talking about her. She's peeking around the corner to see how mad I am. And what do you have to say for yourself young lady?
She gives me that endearing grin and says, "I wuv you, woxie."
My inner three-year-old is an accomplished survivor.