This afternoon, I tried to enlist E.S.’s help in my search for the perfect combination of fabrics for the quilt I’m working on. (My previous efforts, while promising, left something to be desired. Some of you may remember that E.S. is not only a doctor but also a painter, so he’s good at things like color and contrast.) Today’s conversation went something like this:
Faustus: Could you come over to my place tonight and look at some fabrics?
Faustus: I have twelve different kinds of red with metallic gold, and I need to know which will go best with the other fabrics I’ve got.
E.S.: I’ll just pick one at random and say it’s the one you should use.
(Faustus gasps, appalled at the thought of such a betrayal.)
Faustus: If you do that, I’m never opening my legs for you again.
Faustus: Actually, that’s totally an idle threat.
E.S.: Yeah, I’m not really concerned.
He is on his way over even as I type. And I don’t know whether I can trust him or not.
Well, gee. No wonder you ended our AIM conversation so abruptly.
Totally off-topic, but I thought you might like this tale of showtunes vs the bible-thumpers. Which of yours would give them the howling fantods?
They tell me including the link helps in these situations:
but I remain unconvinced.
Could you come over to my place tonight and look at some fabrics?
Why does that strike me like some sort of 14c Florentine pickup line?