When Your Mother is a Quilter

Things I never thought would be discussed in my family room:The merits of thread. Oh, there are merits, people. And the thread in my house? Micro-fibers sticking up everywhere. I am not worthy of thread, nor should I continue pretending to be. My mother's thread? Kept in a lacquered case. It is also apparently black market thread, as it has not yet hit the stores. But I know this: it is hand-dyed by blind monks and could only be found at this year's quilting symposium, where the hotshot quilters were able to just buy as much as they wanted.The imminent threat of the Japanese taking over the quilting industry as we know it. This is not idle talk. You think it's just math skills and economical cars? Think again. And remember three words: economy of scale. Have we learned nothing from Deming's Total Quality Management fiasco? Because the Japanese were listening. And by the way, if you're an American quilter and you're reading this? Get off the computer and stop calling yourself a quilter until those stippling stitches are at least 26 per inch. Did you hear me, bitch?I am sew scared.