Buttons, buttons everywhere and not a shirt to mend. I reached button crisis point this week when my button jar became too full to close. I mean honestly, how many buttons does one lady need?
I blame my mum. She's the one who told me never to chuck anything out and apart from that decade between 14 and 24, I have never been one to disobey her. Now I know you're saying "you're a grown woman, cut the apron strings". And I say you haven't met my mother and don't know how everything she says insinuates its way into my psyche. Is it possible to be brainwashed by a little Irish granny? I suggest it is.
So anyways, what started as just a handful of buttons snipped from the inside of new clothes has, somehow, morphed into a collection that now numbers an impressive 687. Yes, you read right. I am now the careful lady owner of 687 buttons. This (right) is them in all their glory.
Some I found while fossicking in charity shops; some I paid a small fortune for during a splendid London afternoon spent fondling the haberdashery in Liberty and the gift shop in the Victoria and Albert Design Museum.
Below are some of my favourites. Though I love them, I haven't got to the stage where I would consider giving them names so I consider that my addiction may have some way to go. But I can pass a lot of time just playing with the buttons, admiring their shape and texture and, in the case of the old ones, wondering whose clothes they once fastened and how they ended up in my jar.
And though the jar is full and I have a button, surely, for almost any purpose,
I just can't seem to stop buying the things. I think I have a problem. Please tell me I'm not the only one with an inappropriately large stash of something with only a limited purpose. Surely there are some among you who are equally enamoured with these little circular beauties? Perhaps it's not buttons that float your haberdashery boat, maybe it is ribbon that flicks your crafty switch?
On that note, I have another confession to make. I have at least a cool 100 metres of ribbon bundled into an even larger jar. I don't feel guilty - au contraire. I have invested in some tiny things which mostly cost next to nothing, give me great pleasure and come with the bonus of actually having a function. Is that rational thinking or thinking irrationally?
And critically....anyone got any ideas of what project I could undertake that would make some room in the jar? Room that will undoubtedly be filled with you know what...
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