Early Thursday morn, it seemed like one of those throwaway tasks, something done in a jiffy and marked off the "to do" list on my refrigerator door with a triumphant flourish, leaving me the rest of a glorious spring morning for other stuff.
Maybe I'd take a brisk morning walk. Or I could write some letters. Make a healthy breakfast. Oh, what the heck, start the Great American Novel.
Didn't happen.
Three wretched hours later, as NPR's Morning Edition segued into Russell Gant's classical music show, I was no further along than I was when the sun had risen over the scenic drainage retention area behind my house.
It all started when I decided to cut the legs off my tapered pants to make them into more up-to-date capris (we called them pedal-pushers back in the covered wagon days when I was a girl; capris went down to the ankle back then, but never mind that, times change).
The Silas Marner in me couldn't throw away the little circles of material I chopped off, not when they would make perfect hair scrunchies. Besides, they'd match my pants, just like Sandra Dee's.
Seam here, seam there, and they'd be all ready.
Not so fast.
I sewed it like a pillow cover, turned it inside out and it was no longer a circle. I sewed it like a tube with one end closed and couldn't get the elastic through. I sewed it like a square, and it was too short to scrunch.
By this time, the little piece of cloth looked as though I'd chewed it. Bits of turquoise knit floated around my head like angry gnats, with me furiously snipping, tucking, pulling, stuffing.
I remembered seventh-grade sewing class, when I sewed the darts in a navy blue jacket the wrong way five times before I cut it up for place mats. Then it became a symbol for every "simple little project" that has turned into a three-month ordeal - painting the lawn chairs, installing a window blind, organizing my clothes closet, putting a shelf in the kitchen cabinet. I wasn't going to let it beat me.
In the end, it took me two days to create the ragged semblance of two hair scrunchies.
But there is a lesson here: I have gained new respect for the Chinese women who sew these things by the thousands and less resentment toward the people who charge me $5.99 for their finished product.
* * *
You notice that restaurants don't seem quite as full on Tuesdays and Thursdays as they were last month?
My theory is people are staying home to watch the final episodes of Frasier and Friends.
I've been a Frasier fan all along, but I accidentally discovered Friends about a year ago when it was on the TV when I was on the treadmill. It was really weird watching back-to-back episodes taken from different eras. In less than a half hour, they'd either age 10 years or grow younger by 10 years, sort of Dorian Gray on steroids.
I hear people swear they never watch TV (too declasse', I guess), but, even so, they giggle at "Rachel and Ross" references just like the rest of us, revealing themselves as closet Friends watchers.
I can just imagine them racing to turn off the sexy sextet when unexpected guests arrive, like some 1960s hippie running to flush his stash at the sound of a knock. Ah, well, we all have our vices.
I wonder if there will be some historical phenomenon during the last Friends episode like during the final episode of M.A.S.H. when New York City water pressure dropped dangerously as everyone rushed to the toilet during commercials.
That was more than 21 years ago, but lots of people I know recall clearly where they were and what they were doing during that last show, just like during the O.J. verdict.
With both Frasier and Friends departing, I feel as though I'm getting my Tuesday and Thursday nights back, though, without entertainment at chore time, I'm sure my ironing will start to stack up.
Oh, well. Perhaps I can use those nights to figure out how to make those scrunchies.
