When I was six years old, I had this piece of acetate fabric. I think that's what it was called. Anyway, I loved it. It was cream and had a damask pattern on it. I thought it was the prettiest, most luxorious thing I might ever own. I used to play with it in my basement. It was my wedding veil, mostly. sometimes a tablecloth.
It was a tablecloth the day I decided to paint my nails. I got fingernail polish on it. Well, I was a resourceful six year old, so I got the fingernail polish remover and blotted - only the fingernail polish remover ate a giant hole right in the middle of the beautiful tapestry... and it smelled pretty bad.
I share that story tonight because it came to mind when...
I made Salem a dress. cutest little jumper ever. Against my better judgement, I just had to make the yoke (the cute little rounded collar thing) out of acetate - a cheap little remnant that Salem picked out. (i'm sure you see where this is going.) It was beautiful. almost done. just need a few buttons on the back, and it's complete. but, oh, let me be thorough. i'll iron it.
acetate lesson learned: irons on the highest setting + acetate = a shriveled, burnt, holey mess. do you think I could put a flower there, or something? seriously, when will i learn?
