Sophie’s wiry fingers quivered violently as they pressed glue in place, attaching a lace veil to a felt bonnet she had laid out on her workbench; her joints swelled; if she stopped now, she might sleep through the night without waking in painful sweats; but Sophie would not take a break; if Sophie stopped making hats for even a moment, she feared all she would do is stare at the old grandfather clock in the corner and count the seconds until her niece arrived to take the horrible creation out of her shop. Sophie had finished the ridiculous order by three that same afternoon and tucked it beneath the front counter, out of sight of any customers or passersby; so no one might assume she’d lost her sense of taste. She thought she really should set guidelines on what is and is not acceptable on orders for lady’s hats—if not for women’s fashion at large, God help them, then at least in her own shop! In fifty years of ribbons, feathers, nettings and pins, Sophie learned to make the hat you’re paid for, not the hat you’re proud of; but in all those years, there was never such an abomination; such a concoction of trim and contour that made her squirm so much in her own skin. Where was that child? Read the rest at... calebjacobo/2013/10/05/the-strangest-hat-and-the-oddest-girl/
Posted on: Sat, 05 Oct 2013 21:46:13 +0000
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