For the past month I have been sewing quillows like a crazy mad woman because I need a certain number of quillows completed before Thanksgiving rolls around. The staff at the two fabric stores in my area recognize me and my cart full of fabric bolts whenever I roll up to the cutting area. I hate being the woman who has at least 10 bolts in her cart with specific yardage on each.
I make sure I’m super sweet and polite to the staff who are cutting my fabric, and I apologize profusely for being a pain the tush. About 90% of the time the staff are pretty understanding and wave off my apologies. I’ve thought about working at one of the fabric stores but dismissed the idea when I realized my paycheck would return right back to the store.
I’ve lost count, but I think I have completed about 20 quillows with only two — maybe three — needing a little more fiddling. Not too shabby. The living room is a disaster area littered with bags of fabric, piles of fabric, completed quillows, uncompleted quillows, etc. I hate the mess but at least it’s an organized mess — sort of. At least the rest of the house looks somewhat normal.