Mr HB split his daks*. Right up the back; totally irreparable. But as you know, one man's trash is another's treasure. I was thrilled to bits: a chance to re-purpose the soft, faded denim. There were so many possibilities.
That was until I discovered that the owner had binned them. Then I had to make the hard decision. Was I willing to conduct the archaeological dig through layers of disgusting coffee grounds, discarded Weetbix and other slimy sludgy stuff to retrieve them? I really wanted to make Argy new jeans, so I did it. Gross.
With some judicious scraping, laundering and pressing, the jeans came up quite well. They almost looked new, apart from being somewhat breezy in the bottom region (... let me clarify, that would be breeze coming in and not, ahem, going out). I jokingly mentioned to Mr HB that I hoped I didn't cut up the wrong jeans. He in turn helpfully made a much bigger rip in the jeans, to avoid confusion. Right through a nice usable piece of fabric.
I'm not a violent person, but frankly I wanted to deck him. Note to self: investigate anger management problem.
Anyway, I managed to muster just enough fabric for Argy-sized jeans and started sewing them last night. Its nice to be able to use such soft, worn-in denim for a child's jeans. And lovely to be able to add a comfy elasticised waist instead of a fiddly fly front, which is too tricky for my three year-old (and assumedly others), to negotiate.
Why do store-bought trousers in size 3 all seem to have zips and buttons? I'd like to say a thing or two to those commercial designers. But not before completing the anger management classes.
*Daks (n): Australian slang for trousers. Derived from a proprietary name registered in the UK in the 1930s. Part of the common vernacular ever since.