Write About A Craft

Back by popular demand, more prompt writing (okay, one person asked for more). From October 24, 2008.
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I am distinctly uncrafty. My best laid craft plans usually run amok. I have super-glued countertops, stapled my dining room table, nearly cut my femoral artery with a hacksaw, and all my decoupage projects have at least one cat hair floating prominently in them.
In sewing class I had races down the hallway in the rolling chairs. I traded sleeves for buttonholes and got in trouble (what? they got done, right?) Patterns puzzle me, nail guns out smart me. I am constantly amazed I have all my body parts.
My mother sewed most all my clothes when I was young and as a testament to my future as a craft un-doer, I ripped out hems with the heels of my shoes, tore off bows and sashes, and was generally a mess. My father said if given a crowbar, I could destroy the world.
Not that he had room to talk. If something went wrong with an appliance, my mother would skip telling my father and jump right to calling the appropriate professional. If he tried to fix it, we would need a new appliance, not just a repair.
I can barely put up a mini-blind - easy assembly my eye. Four hours and twelve drilled holes later it might be semi-functional. Just don't pull the cord too hard.
I am a sloppy painter, hate finish work, and am not allowed to have a band saw.
Yet people ask me for decorating advice and say they love how my house feels.
So maybe I have a knack for arranging - if not making - things. Arranging is safer and no one needs stitches.