Dying for a New Purse

This bad pun was bound to come up sooner or later. I LOVE to dye stuff... any stuff. Tops, bed sheets, wee little ribbons, great big drapes. I need less than no incentive to drag out my boxes of dye. I mix colors, I blend colors, I play like nobody's in charge.

But this time I really have a good excuse ~ my old purse is ratty. I need a new one. And I can't just go to the store to buy a purse. (I'm beginning to notice that I can't just go to the store to buy anything -- first it was curtains. I can't buy curtains -- I have to make them. Then it was doggy collars... and pillow shams, towel trims, dust ruffles.) Once I even made my own dining room rug. This is getting out of hand isn't it? I'll consult a psychiatrist another time -- just now I have a purse in need of making. So, I have dyed my fabrics, gathered my pieces, cut out my "pattern" -- "Pattern? I don't need no stinking pattern."

I have embellished my pocket. Stitched down my straps. (yes, it is lined, I should have showed it to you.) Then I stitched and snipped and fluffed my fringe.
Looky here, Mama's got a brand new bag. How cool is that?