Thursday, September 29, 2016
Oh, how much fun I had with THIS tag, my friends!
(Description at the bottom of the post)
Par for the course, I'm sliding in under the wire, but hey...I can only work when the creativity hits, people. Well, it's not so much as when the creativity hits as to an actual deadline making me panic and create something as fast as I possibly can.
Which is tough going with the disability I didn't know I had. That was, until my husband looked down at my hands and said, "You know, Liam (our youngest minion) has fingers just like yours! Little sausage fingers!" (Fig. 1)
You know that moment when men say something they think is funny, but is actually a legitimate defense in a manslaughter trial? (See Fig. 1)
Seeing me NOT laughing, he tried valiantly to correct his mistake.
"Wait, what I meant was that...well, Liam...I guess..." (Fig. 2)
Have you even noticed that men, in realizing they said something that will lead to their suffering months of passive-aggressive spousal behavior, begin to try to explain that they didn't mean what they meant? But, since they have no way out, mostly due to being only able to process one thought at a time, they begin speaking in half sentences. (See Fig. 2)
Next, perhaps knowing that there's not really a way out of the "Quagmire of Idiocy" they are sinking into, they next try to put whatever positive spin on it they can come up with. (See Fig. 3)
"Look, what I really meant was that I think your fingers are simply adorable! They're so cute and chubby, kinda, and just...they feel so good to squeeze!" (Fig. 3)
It's about that time, that they feel they can move a little closer, perhaps to try and hold your fat little fingers and give them a loving squeeze, while inadvertently checking to see that there are no knives concealed in the hand with the huge, obese fingers.
This is a mistake.
Because even though they may get a hug, or soft words of forgiveness and understanding, the bottom line is that they pretty much just found a body part that CAN'T lose much weight, thereby nullifying all diet attempts made to this point, and effectively sentencing their target to a life of sobbing into a bowl of ice cream while whispering, "Why me? There's nothing I can do! I'll have to wear gloves for the rest of my life! Do they even make them in 'sausage fingers' size?"
Not to mention the incessant planning, from that moment on, as to how to punish a man for such an egregious mistake. Acts of refusing to clean or cook, claiming my 'sausage fingers' can't manage the the respective implements used in each task. Or claiming my obese digits can't possibly be expected to manage to drive a car for groceries, or to pick up children, or even allow a conjugal visit?
Sorry-too much emotional baggage from my stunted fingers to even THINK about letting go and enjoying a little 'connubial bliss'. I'd be too self-conscious to even think about it. It's not like there's any type of sexy lingerie that could possibly help. So, I'll have to pass.
I mean, really...do you think I'd allow these fat fingers to be seen naked?
Now for the September tag:
The mash-ups were to make a marbled tag, which I did using rusty hinge, china and fossilized amber, along with plenty of metallic brass. The second was covering Yupo in alcohol ink and stmping an image using archival ink. I used black alcohol ink and orange archival ink. Once stamped, take a clean, cotton cloth and blot over image, creating a resist. I jazzed it up with skelaton hands, cut from some little plastic images, and used Tim's Cross Movers and Shapers, covered it with Tim's texture paste and used hickory smoke, weathered wood and Iced Spruce to make it look like a concrete marker. Then, using tea bag tea, I created a freshly dug grave with another skeleton hand.
The noose I created myself and using the filmstrip and stickers (with Ranger Liquid Pearls 'blood')