I am posting this article at the request of Pamy Of pamyspatterns. Thanks for cheering me up! I was sure I had been forgotten, its been so long ago. So funny you remembered this one!
copyright © Sharon Bateman--Airbrushed Tights | All Rights Reserved
Bead & Button-
Work for Beads August 1998 #26
The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that beads are magic. Really... think about it. Why do so many reasonable people go to such great lengths for beads? Aren't they just little blobs of glass with a hole in the center?
Yet we continue to go through many psychological contortions to acquire as many of these little blobs as possible. In the beginning of this succession, we usually go pretty slow, find the occasional good deal, and only what we need for a specific project. We are content with our beads, living in our sewing kits or small containers. We make trips to the bead store only when we have a need for a particular item. Most of us at this stage can carry our fortune around with us.
Then very slowly, so we are not alarmed, we start collecting. One project is not good enough now. We have to think about projects in the future... and OH! This color would be just right for that one." We start buying more beads... cause everyone knows, if you don't buy it now, you may not be able to get it again... EVER. (GASP!) Ever so slowly, even the most honest of wives, will sneak past an unsuspecting husband, carrying her magical contraband, into the house. When no-one is looking, she will sneak her contraband into her treasure chest. This assures the, up until now, honest wife, that when next her beloved spies her treasures, that she can honestly say, "Oh, those old things! I've had those for a while." And still have a straight face a and a peaceful mind.
How many of us have actually encouraged our husbands to give in to their desires for a new toy? "Oh, honey, go ahead, you know you deserve it." They smile adoringly, as if we are goddesses bestowing a blessing. Little do they know... the bead festival is next week.
To be fair... our small magical treasures do make tolerating the manly toys our husbands are so proud of easier to deal with. My husband's weakness is tools. He actually has a screwdriver that is three feet long. It's only for one bolt on one specific car. Go figure! Anyway, I can understand a little better now that I have the nifty little pliers that are only for crimp beads.
I am pleased with my husband now. I've finally broken his will... OH!... I mean, he's finally come to understand my need to bead. I think he really believes that we are not just eating on the floor because my latest project is on the dinner table, we are having an international experience, Japanese style. Perfectly acceptable. "No, honey, those aren't beads in the bed. The kids must have been playing in the sandbox." He can almost believe those little hard things in the eggs are really peppercorns, unless I'm using black beads.
I must confess, I've stopped even trying to resist the magic of beads. I am a total junkie. My whole life revolves around these little blobs of glass. I thought joining the bead society would cure me, like an AA group. Boy was I wrong. They made me President! It's hopeless; I am completely out of control.
Sometimes I have nightmares about Czechoslovakian sorcerers, dancing naked in the moonlight, putting spells on vats of molten glass, just before it is made into beads. These magical orbs then make their way throughout the world to wreak havoc on all us unsuspecting innocents.
I can almost see myself in my old age. It's pathetic, really. I've spent my retirement on beads, am homeless, impoverished, dressed in rags, sitting outside a bead store, with a cardboard sign that reads, "Will work for beads," in magic marker.
I've tried to resist, really I have. Sometimes... I go into my vast array of beads... and buy some from myself, just to keep from going to the nearest bead store. I guess I just need to resign myself to my fate, and go buy some more beads. I have so many, my husband will never notice.Type your paragraph here.