Liar Liar, Pants on Fire

My pants are afire!

This project has taken off with a vengeance!  I got my blue jeans cut into 4 inch strips with no regard to the length of the block.  I piled them high and retrieved them every time DiNozzo took them down to inspect.

Then yesterday I sewed them together in long long long strips.  I kept envisioning a red, white and grey shirting between the rows.  And I liked it.  But I kept thinking that the weight of the fabric shirts would be far too light for the heavier denim panting.  I guess that is a word.  Shirting is what shirts are made from.  Panting just follows, right?

Look at how wonderful the pocket areas look in the mix.  I love this quilt. 

Frank always wears dockers and a button down shirt.  Always.  He buys them years in advance of needing them so he always has a good supply in case the world runs out of dockers.  And this morning he brings me a pair that has seen better days.  the bottom of the pant leg was frayed.  He said can you do anything with these?

I was ecstatic!  He has been coming along in his interest of my quilting.  He will now look mildly interested when I order new fabric and show it to him.  I thought it was wonderful he had taken the next step and was FINDING me material!  Wow, wait till I tell the girls down at the guild tonight!

So I go into the kitchen where I have been cutting up all the blue jeans and proceed to dissect these wonderful pants.  I cut them into long 4 inch strips and carefully intersperse them in the blue jean strips.  Oh, my they look wonderful.  (That blue and yellow check is a piece of that rug material that was painted and given as First Place prizes in the Greater Swiss Mountain Dog Club Regional Specialty one year.)

Frank walks in, I show him the improvements and he is excited about the new improved look, which I know he was faking.  But I am still impressed that he has evolved this far for me.

He is walking around in his skivvies, something unusual for him.  Going from room to room wandering aimlessly.  He constantly looks for his keys and phone and wallet.  I smile wondering which one he is looking for now. 

As he wanders in to the kitchen, he drops the bombshell:  where are the pants I handed you to fix?

Fix? I say.  Realization hitting me that he was not quite ready to give up those pants just yet.  I fixed them, I say -- spreading my hands out in a Vanna White wave toward the strips on the floor. 

His face looks like that guy on the phone commercial where the girl jumps up and screams at the spider ap on his screen and the other guy beats his phone with the shoe.  Yep, just like that.

glen