“No, no, not the bobbin... wrong one... give me the seam ripper... where’s my seam ripper?”

At first, I thought it was me. Lord knows I’ve muttered a few quilting terms in my dreams. (Once I shouted “stay-stitch that bias edge!” and scared the cat clean off the bed.) But no, this time? It was him. My sweet husband—snoring, sleep-talking, and apparently in the middle of a high-stakes quilting emergency.

Now listen, this man cannot tell the difference between Moda and microwave pizza. He once asked if a jelly roll was a pastry. But apparently, after years of sitting near my machine and pretending to listen, something seeped into that brain of his like steam into a fat quarter.

So naturally, I did what any good wife would do. I asked questions.

“What project are we working on?” I whispered, nudging him gently.
“Batting’s too thick,” he muttered. “Edges don’t line up. Need the seam ripper.”
Then he reached over and patted my arm like I was his longarm. I nearly cried.

Well, we laughed about it the next morning—until we couldn’t find the actual seam ripper. I checked the sewing table, the ironing board, even my purse.

Guess where we found it?

In. The. Fridge.

Right next to the yogurt, like it had been chilling out after a long day of undoing mistakes.

So, moral of the story? Be careful how close you let your partner sit to your quilting station.

Next thing you know, they’ll be arguing with the walking foot in their dreams and sleepwalking into your stash.

Now I know I can’t be the only one with a story like this. Have a quilting oops? A partner who’s caught the bug by osmosis? A seam ripper that’s gone rogue?

-> Hit reply and tell me your juiciest quilting tale. I live for this stuff.

Until next time,
      Your favorite fabric-loving, story-telling stitcher

P.S. I’m keeping the seam ripper and the yogurt in separate drawers from now on. Just in case.