call me crazy

I've been debating whether or not to bring this up. It's not something that I particularly want to dwell on. But then I began to realize the incredible responsibility I have been given to share my own experience--just in case. If I could prevent only one person from making the same mistake, it would all be worth it. Yes, I am talking about the dark side of thrift shopping. 

Behold, a familiar sight around our apartment lately. Hey, what's with that great vintage sheet abandoned on the floor?

It's true that there are some great deals out there on unused fabric yardage, vintage remnants and linens. And I wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone missing out on that most thrilling of sports that is thrift shopping, but there is a seedy underbelly to this seemingly innocent pastime that must be exposed. I'm not talking about a deceptively fat roll of fabric wrapped with masking tape taunting you with a promise of "1 1/2 yards" when in reality there is little more to be unrolled than a few poorly cut scraps hidden in a sun bleached outer layer (Did that sound bitter?). Oh, no. I'm speaking of something far more menacing.

When we first came to Nashville, I admit, I went on a thrift shopping spree and I found tons of great fabrics among other things. And I let my guard down. Picture this: me showing off my freshly laundered vintage sheet to an unsuspecting husband just doing his duty to feign interest when he notices...a blood stain. Truly, it makes my skin crawl just to think about it. But at the time, the defenses shot up and I immediately began making excuses about already having washed it...being able to cut away that very small spot, etc. But, it was more than I could take. I couldn't quite bring myself to trash the whole thing. I mean, the colors were great. But I certainly couldn't fold it up and put it with the rest of my lovely fabrics as if nothing had happened. <shudder>

So, in the corner it sat for 3 or 4 weeks while I debated what to do. I tried rewashing with more stain remover. No luck. Finally, I spread the thing out on the floor going over every inch of the pattern with a magnifying glass and cut out the offending spots with a great deal of surrounding space just to be sure. Kind of like cutting out a tumor. You can't risk not getting it all. Then I rewashed again for good measure. Later I even cut out a few individual flowers with the hope of using them as appliques on future projects, but the rest of it still sits on the floor. I imagine that I'll try to use a piece here or there if I can, but it'll probably remain outcast on the floor until it is time for us to go back home. Then, I don't know what I'll do. Can I in good conscience bring the thing home with me? Or am I just being weird? I mean, I still like it. What what you do??

Just to cleanse your mind of that last image, here is a flawless stack of brand-spanking-new upholstery fabric remnants I picked up last week at a local store at 50% off.

You might want to stare at these for a few minutes, you know, until it all starts to fade away. Tomorrow, something you won't want to tear your eyes away from, I promise.