Arts and crafts.

I am not a domestic girl.

I don't cook, I hate to clean, and my idea of a functional home life hinges largely on television shows where girls own multiple $1000 purses, guys have beautifully coiffed hair, and for some reason no one seems to ever work, do laundry, or get pimples.

In college, I switched my major numerous times between Creative Writing, Art (emphasis on mixed media found art collage), Literature, and Photography. Apparently, when you lump all of those multiple half-finished degrees into one, eff around for awhile, make some dubious decisions, and finally get your shit together, you get a career in Cosmetology!

(Who knew?)

(Oh, and you also get an expensive shoe habit and an eerily accurate knowledge of your "good" side when posing for pictures. That part's just gravy.)

So while I am not Susie Homemaker, I am CRAFTY.

Hubs has lamented on many occasions about my ridiculous amount of art supplies squirreled away in our limited storage space. I refuse to get rid of anything, and he only feeds my addiction by organizing everything so well that I don't feel like I need to.

(Oh did I mention that when you study Literature you simultaneously learn how to bullshit your way through any argument by being forced to "discover" subliminal poetry messages? Very useful.)

(I mean, I'm all for hidden meaning and everything but sometimes a tree is just A TREE.)

Admittedly, I might not know how to turn on our fancy vacuum cleaner or, uhm, exactly where we keep the peanut butter, but I can find you 3843 different types of markers in about 4 seconds, and I have enough decorative collage paper to wallpaper our house.

Glue? Got it. Drawing pencils? I'm your girl. Paints? I have pastel AND oil. Contact sheet loop? Sure. Drafting board? Yes. Knitting needles? Multiple sizes. Beads? Every color. Sewing machine? Check. Fabric flowers? Absolutely.

Every once in awhile, I get a hankering to craft. When I was single, I used to do it a lot.

(Wow. That sounds AWFUL. I am a DORK.)

(What I MEANT was, when I was single, I used to go out and party every night and not come home till the sun was up and vodka and cute boys and clubs and money and glamour and intrigue and excitement!)

Now when I pull out my art stuff...I have a pupil.

(Not kidding. It's hysterical.)

If I'm making beaded jewelry, Hubs wants to try. He dubbed himself "The Bead Guru" and made me some bee-you-tee-ful bead & wire hair combs. They were so lovely, I didn't want to wear them because I was afraid I might LOSE them, so I put them in a place of honor in the very, very back of my dresser drawer where I knew they'd be safe.

(And out of my immediate line of sight.)

When I pulled out my sketchbook, Hubs wanted to try his hand at drawing boats. I set him up with an entire set of drawing pencils and my drafting board. He sketched for two days straight and contemplated framing his finished product.

(We're still looking for that PERFECT frame to display his masterpiece.)

After seeing me knitting yesterday, Hubs decided he wanted to learn. We got a handmade blanket as a wedding gift, and he loves it, so he wanted to try and make another. So, today we had a lesson.

HUBS: (coming into the living room with the knitting needles and yarn skein) Okay! I'm ready.

ME: (having a hard time keeping a straight face looking at his big hands awkwardly holding the needles) Okay. Sit next to me and I'll show you how to cast on.

HUBS: We tie knots, right?

(Hubs is an expert at knot-tying. Comes with being a boat guy, I guess.)

ME: Uhm. Kind of.

I have to tell you, watching my big, tall, unshaven, perpetually-grubby-handed husband try to knit while our little sweater-wearing dog sat next to him on the couch was one of the most ENDEARING things I've ever seen.

Even when he got frustrated, threw the needles and yarn across the room, and declared it "f*!@ing ridiculous!"

(Inevitable.)

Next week I think we'll try crochet.