Let me preface this tale with one from my high school days. (I promise to be brief.)
There was this boy in high school who was fascinated me. He was I suppose what we would now call "alternative"--piercings, punky...pretty a-typical in West Texas. (Looking back I'd say that he could be classified as a Byronic hero. As Caroline Lamb suggested: "mad, bad, and dangerous to know.")
Perhaps he was drawn to me because I was his opposite
in every single way--preppy to his punk, goody-two-shoes to his always in trouble. You get the picture--you've seen enough teenage movies.
The only place where we were equals was in the classroom--we were both smarty-pants geniuses (yup, I said it) and we were both interested in theatre.
Okay, so this boy once came into our AP English class after lunch with, let's say, a new look. During the lunch hour he had apparently ripped off all of the buttons on his long-sleeved Oxford-style shirt and had replaced them with enormous safety pins.
I must admit, it was pretty hot. Even our teacher thought so when she said something to the effect of, "hot stuff, make your way to the Principal's office to discuss your attire."
Flash foward to 2010. I'm running late because of a domestic disturbance. I'm halfway to taking my dog to daycare when I look down and see a giant hole in my ever-present black cardigan.
I'm a crafter (and my mother's daughter). I always have safety pins. You can infer what happens next.
In which Jenni goes punk:
xxoo
jenni, from the dark side
