Girls Don’t Make Passes At Boys Who Crochet Doilies


Years ago, when I was single and determined not to repeat the sins of the past, I made a list of what I wanted in the next (and final) man. I have misplaced said list, but I recall that one was that he did not drive a Miata (apparently there were Miatas in spades at the time, and ain’t nobody got time to rebuild the confidence of a man who’s overcompensating), that he did not smoke (I was tired of doing laundry that smelled like a bar), and that he could change his own oil (preferably in his truck). He also could not be vegan nor vegetarian, and he would have to be quick on the draw if Enya popped up on the radio, because Heaven knows I hate me some Enya. Change that station pronto! Apparently I’m not the only one.


But nowhere on that list did it require that he be a skilled yarnswoman or masterquilter or whatever you call one who sews things (other than Chinese minors in factories). When I did finally begin dating my now-husband, he met about 90% of that list. So I took him. Only after we were married, did I realize that a deer-hunting, guitar-playing, camo-clad Texas boy could also operate the pedal of a sewing machine. And when our son inevitably ripped buttons off his clothes or tore his jeans, my husband could fix it. Like Rosey Freaking Grier.

roseygOkay, he wasn’t hunched over with a needle and thread on a shag carpet next to a gold couch, doing a self-portrait, but you get my point. On the seesaw of gender identity, the seesaw weighed heavily on the masculine. But he could still fix my hem of my Ally McBeal power suit if need be, so I could get back to my fluorescent-lit office job, bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan. Yep, that’s me in my Enjoli.

But don’t go thinking we ladies all want sensitive men. We don’t. You can use tools, but you don’t have to be one. Mostly we just want to talk. Sit next to us and listen while we TALK TALK TALK incessantly about whatever is on our minds. Just nod and “hmmm” periodically and let us use up our daily word count, which is approximately 13,000 more words than yours. Case in point:


28 thoughts on “Girls Don’t Make Passes At Boys Who Crochet Doilies”

  1. Oh, Kerbey, the Miata was a funny little car. Sports image for Bug prices. Nope, never for me (on either). Kudos to your hubby for the talent to sew stuff. Never for me, either, though it would come in far more handy than a Miata on the resume.


  2. You have so much going on up there I don’t even know what to hit! Glad you found a man who fit the bill–that sewing thing is lucky, especially for those anti-Martha Stewarts of us. My husband is no good at needlepoint (though he doesn’t drive a Miata either, so we’re still together), but I’ve been able to raise a daughter who likes sewing.

    She had a girl scout meeting a few years back where they were earning a sewing badge. Supposed to bring something that needed a button sewed on. I went to the meeting, too, and brought a coat that needed buttons sewed on. Very sad how it took me way longer than the girls to sew on the button and said button fell off again soon after meeting. Needless to say, I did not get a badge that evening. Fortunately, my daughter did and has continued to expand her sewing horizons.

    Tight plaid capris and a spatula is a good look for you, Kerbey. VA va vooommmmmm….


    1. I do admit I had to suck in to make that look work. I love to wear latticework, but it’s so hard to come by ever since Contempo Casuals shut down. You have brought my usual Friday perkiness down as I think of your button falling off (again). I think it’s good that you can live vicariously through your daughter’s ability to secure a badge, but still there must be a hole in your heart, a shadow of defeat. Is there a badge for sewing on elbow patches for college professor’s jackets? I bet you could nail that. Especially if corduroy is involved.


      1. you are so overestimating me, Kerbey. I could never sew corduroy. The hole in my heart has filled, thank goodness. A shadow of defeat, perhaps, but it is fading or at least this shadow is becoming overshadowed by the shadow of my inability to parent without completely losing my mind on a daily basis. But perhaps I can compensate for these shortcomings by earning badges in making cakes, cupcakes (a separate badge from cake-making, I am certain), cookies, and cocktails.

        So very sorry for bringing you down from your usual Friday Perk status. That was not my intention in any way. May I offer you this glass of wine ( and list of songs ( to perk you back up?


      2. Oh, I see you’ve found The Cure for my sadness, oh, dealer of cupcakes, cookies, and cocktails. I will slug that half-full glass of antioxidants while I listen to Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere.” Gracias.


      3. as the old saying goes, “Boys Don’t Cry” and it is Friday and we all know that Friday I’m in Love hence the Lovesong.

        You mentioned CC and that was a flashback, too. Their sister, Petite Sophisticate, was the only shop I could buy pants that didn’t need to be hemmed further. I liked those stores! RIP.


  3. Miata? Doilies? Egad I think my voice raised an octave just saying those 2 words. Enya? Never heard of her, On a side note your header pic. would make a great shirt. One to make Magnum proud.


  4. “But nowhere on that list did it require that he be a skilled yarnswoman or masterquilter or whatever you call one who sews things.”

    Tailor or seamstress.I can fix the buttons on my Navy pea coat and mend the seams of older t-shirts. Can I hem a curtain? Not yet. It comes to me that the idea of keeping clothes well-maintained is more like being self-reliant than feminine.

    I haven’t changed my own oil in years. With the way they pack the engine anymore, it’s just as cost-effective to go to the oil changing pit. This is doubly so with the EPA standards on recycling oil. I have no ramps either.


    1. Oh, we pay someone to change the oil. I just wanted him to know HOW. Kind of like knowing how to drive a stick shift. You don’t have to own one. I guess you have a point with keeping clothes well-maintained. How do you explain the pics of boys in the FHA (future homemakers of america) group shots, though? The FFA makes sense, but not the FHA. The movie “Mr. Mom” didn’t come out til the 80s.


  5. Still laughing! This is great.
    Now, I will have you know that I and another dude took Home Ec in HS. Just ’cause we wanted to field all the wise cracks from our buds. I also played football, got into fights and worked for a rancher.
    In Home Economics I learned how to sew, cook, and pretend to be a renaissance man.
    The girls loved it.


  6. A well-groomed guy who could also crochet his own antimacassar, to prevent his pomade from soiling the upholstery, might have been quite a catch for a certain kind of gal.


  7. Oh, Kerbey, this was hilarious. I wish I’d made a list in my very lengthy dating time. Fortunately, I met my pookie-pie anyway.
    I loved this post, very funny and wittily written.


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