THE DOG BLANKET DRESS

IMG_2144THE DOG BLANKET DRESS

Persons of my former acquaintance (low life types of feeble intellect and little discrimination) have occasionally had the temerity to suggest that yours truly is a silver-tongued deceiver who could with artful cunning apply a positive spin to any chosen subject, or conversely ruin some poor innocent’s reputation with a few well chosen, carefully planted, deceptively mild phrases.   You, gentle reader, being an intelligent person of taste and sound judgement, know that this accusation is a foul calumny, and that your humble correspondent deals only with shining truths and accurate analyses.

It has occurred to me however that I may have – inadvertently – presented you with a picture of myself as an accomplished and successful dress maker.     In this scenario, completed projects are  disgorged by my sewing machine with all the ease of an aeroplane ejecting parachutists.   According to this legend, emerging from my sewing room is an unending triumphant procession of elegant dresses for me;  silk dresses for my  granddaughters, velvet capes, quilts to go on their beds, pretty pyjamas and dressing-gown for all the ladies of the family, kilts for the boy, handbags to order, curtains, cushions, throws and mats for new houses, aprons for all and so on, all articles greeted with cries of delight by the grateful recipients.

Well, yes.   But we can all make mistakes; it’s neither easy nor invariably successful.

The week I’ve been making myself a cream wool dress.

I’ve adapted the pattern to my exact requirements – it’s a shift, very plain, with a zip at the back.   I’ve made three versions;  a brown wool with faint white stripes;    a greenish plaid;    and a sleeveless red linen version.   They’re all reasonably satisfactory and I’ve worn them a lot.

I had bought the cream all wool tweed fabric at a wonderful mill in Oxfordshire while staying with my friend Elizabeth nearby.   I did wonder if it was the right colour, weight and texture, but concluded it would be OK and proceeded to make it up into a classic shift, with a V neck and three quarter length sleeves.   It took ages.

I am NOT pleased with it.

The material looks like a dog’s blanket.    When I press it, there is an aroma of sheep.   The material is several shades of yellowish cream away from the winter white I need.   Although exactly the same as earlier models, it makes me look fat.   I’ve fiddled endlessly with it, and still the neck won’t sit right.    Although I know that the shoulders and arms are both exactly the same length, the way it sits on me it looks as if one sleeve is longer than the other.   It’s a DISASTER, darling.

I consider taking it to my lovely craft group and lamenting my failure to them.   They are all proper ladies.   They wouldn’t laugh.   They’d all do their best to help and encourage me.   Plus, one of their number is that magician, Alison, who can make anything out of anything and the insides of whose garments are as beautifully finished as the outsides.    But I’m sick of the thing.   I don’t want to work on it, talk about it, even think about it any more.

You can generally incorporate anything into your wardrobe, even if in its basic state it doesn’t suit you, by judicious selection of things to wear with it.   After extensive, time-consuming and messy trials, I discover it only looks tolerable with one garment – a very long, lean-line, creamy white knitted alpaca coat/cardigan (purchased from the Alpaca shop on the A 22.)   The reason this suits it is because it HIDES most of it.   With a black and cream silk scarf (a gift from Nan Wylie) to give vertical emphasis and conceal the neckline, and a cream necklace of biwa pearls, made by Joanna and gifted by John, plus black leather boots and black leather gloves (bought in Biarritz) it looks tolerable.

However it only looks OK if I keep the coat on.    This combination is too hot for most interiors, and not warm enough for outdoors.   The coat is too long to wear anything over it.   In addition, though I’ve lined it, it’s itchy.   Basically, it feels like you’re wearing a hair shirt.

The white knitted coat has shoulder pads, and as I wear it with other things I need to retain them;   they are not detachable.      The  dress has shoulder pads which I included in a vain attempt to make the neck and shoulders look OK.   They are inside the dress, attached to sleeves and shoulders and between the fabric and the lining.   To remove them would require a major reconstruction.   In consequence, the outfit looks like something General Patten might have worn.

I present myself in my entire ensemble to my husband who looks at me cautiously.   He can see I am not happy.    He is deceived by the outer accessories and assures me that it is fine.   I remove the coat and scarf and I see him hesitate.   Then he says it’s not too bad;  I’ve spent a lot of time on it.    I can see he’s looking at my derriere.   He says, maybe it’s not the most flattering garment you’ve ever made…   can you take it in around the hips?   I think, what he actually means is, it makes your bum look HUGE, and I feel, with frustration and fatigue, positively tearful.

John takes me out and we buy a grey dress and jacket.

So what should I do with the Dog Blanket Dress?   No self respecting dog would have anything to do with it.

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About adhocannie
I am a good natured woman with a long memory and a swift tongue. I like loooking at things and thinking about them. Also food, clothes, travel, reading, sewing. I try to see the ridiculous in things, but sobriety of reflection keeps edgting in. I have husband, children, grandchildren, friends... I feel rich in things that matter. I am a happy exile. I like writing. I do not like talking about me (though I do.). You willl be much more interesting.

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