This seems to be a week for confessions on my part.
As well as sharing the dirty secret of my slovenly ways over half term, here I am, ‘fessing up again.
I have realised during the course of this week that, in one respect at least, I am not as others.
I have a shameful compulsion / addiction. I wrote of it before, when it was only in it’s infancy. But since then it has grown.
I’m not talking of my well-publicised fabric addiction, a phenomenon which appears to be almost normal these days.
No, I’m out and proud on that score, and share my condition with many people with whom I come into contact. (Unless it’s just the power of the interweb to bring the few similarly-afflicted into my orbit?).
I’m talking about a particular niche area of fabric addiction:
My natural love for fibres that are not natural.
My stash of synthetics is growing. As well as frocks, I can’t seem to stop myself from purchasing lurid polyester fabrics whenever they cross my path.
They’re so cheerful!
And so cheap!
Obviously because nobody else wants them.
But I’ve just noticed – people think I’m strange because I do.
One friend admitted that she “couldn’t wear” man made fibres, whilst another told me that she “didn’t do synthetics”. Period.
And I’m sure I’m not imagining the strange look I got from the lady in the Sue Ryder Shop as I enthused about my latest polyester treasure at the counter.
Perhaps I am weird.
Although, I prefer to think of myself as cutting edge, a trend-setting trail-blazer, who resides in the vanguard of fabric fashion, merrily skipping where others fear to tread.
So tell me: would you buy a crimplene cushion? I need to know…
Because there is just a tiny smidge of doubt creeping in, that perhaps my minority interest is, like the fabrics I covet, just, well, unnatural. ♥