The Boy is somewhat clouded in mystery. Sometimes so much so that newcomers tend to think I am talking about my son, which I am clearly not, as I do not have anything that falls into the offspring category, either gender. Several others wondered if he would be upgraded to The Man or The Husband after the wedding, but I am not big on such name changes. The Boy is so-called because he is three-and-a-half years younger than I am. Thankfully he did not return the favour by launching a blog and publically referring to me as The Old Woman. That was kind of him.
He is also referred to by such a moniker because this is the internet and although I choose to tell you things, I thought he was entitled to his privacy. Remember, I once spent my days teaching teenagers whom we would inevitably run into at the shopping centre and the train station. All teachers know it comes with the territory that one idle Thursday evening, you can be deciding which bag of frozen peas looks best when out of nowhere, exceedingly high pitched screams of ‘Miss Laaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeee!’ will pierce the silence and the calm of the frozen vegetable aisle forevermore. I guess I signed up for that, but I figured he did not, and so I never used his actual name at school or online and it seemed to do the trick. If someone who had listened closely saw us both in the frozen vegetable aisle, they wouldn’t actually scream and would perhaps politely ask ‘Is this The Boy, Miss?’ which was far more tolerable.
I swear I don’t pose these shots on purpose. He walks faster than I do. Faster than anyone I know. So I take pictures like this. What can you do?
But scrapbookers are polite people anyway and don’t generally shout amongst the frozen goods. Some do ask about The Boy and a few have even giggled to ask ‘Does The Boy scrapbook?’ and this makes me laugh. No, The Boy does not scrapbook. On a good day, he appreciates my scrapbooking. On a bad day, he tolerates it. He has made one layout in his entire life, which was part of a challenge over at UKScrappers and was entirely my fault. It is one of the three moments I have ever seen The Boy get stressed out that did not involve my inability to navigate from a map nor my inability to get somewhere at a set time. Three. So ever since he has kept a safe distance from the scrapbooking supplies, and this is fine.
There are, however, moments when our easily amused brains entertain the idea of what life would be like if it were The Boy who were the scrapbooker in our household. Admittedly, there are male scrapbookers who make it work for them – be they few and far between! The Boy quite clearly could not be one of them. So we compiled a list of ways in which life as we know it would change. May it entertain you.
If The Boy scrapbooked and you asked him to name his favourite scrapbooking supply, he would reply “glue”. If you followed up with “But what about Thickers?”, he would only glare. The next day your friends might find you had been turned to stone.
If The Boy scrapbooked and you asked him to name his favourite scrapbooking technique, he would reply “making a grid of photos. with glue.” You would quite rightly think that he is in quite good company for loving grids, what with the likes of Ali and Cathy proclaiming their love for just the same thing. But after the first incident, you will have learned to keep such comments to yourself.
A scrapbook page by The Boy or a mosaic from Big Huge Labs? Who can tell?
If for a moment you supposed we were both scrapbookers and you asked The Boy to name his favourite scrapbooker, he would dutifully reply “Well, obviously Shimelle. Except her layouts are far too busy. They need more grids. And glue.” {Yes, I asked. That’s a direct quote.}
If The Boy scrapbooked, there would be no talk of crops or retreats or CHA. There would instead be the occasional construction meeting in a secret location. Later, employees of the local pub would be found to be scraping glue off their tables and shaking their heads.
If The Boy scrapbooked, there would be no need to shop for a scrapping tote. Any scrapbook supplies would need to be transportable by backpack. There would be no stressing out while traveling about the chance that paper could be crumpled. I don’t fully understand how this is possible, actually.
If The Boy scrapbooked and you looked at his album, you would see an abundance of white pages and grey text that would suddenly make you think you were perhaps not looking at a scrapbook at all, but some new arm of advertising from Apple. He assures me this would be wholly intentional. I tried to talk him into adding a swirl stamp to the look, but I only missed being turned to stone because I knew to jump quickly.
If The Boy scrapbooked, regular blogging would be replaced by months of silence broken by a single philosophical statement about the hobby. Apparently The Boy is not such a fan of the chit chat.
If The Boy scrapbooked, he would scrap photos of me without photoshopping out my frizzy hair, blotchy skin or slouchy posture.
I don’t think the world is ready for this. I know I am not.
If The Boy scrapbooked, there would be no requests for photos of our feet whenever we a) had new shoes or b) traveled somewhere where the paving looked slightly different than home.
If The Boy scrapbooked, he assures me he would proclaim a new title that has much more implicit honour than The Boy. As of yet, he is still unsure of his new name. Suggestions are welcomed.
If The Boy scrapbooked, he would replace my sewing machine with an industrial laser cutter. Every time he used the device, he would impersonate Dr. Evil. Every. Time.
If The Boy scrapbooked, he would take up lots of sketch challenges but every resulting layout would look the same: nine 4×4 photos in a grid, glued to a 12×12 page. No matter what the sketch.
If The Boy scrapbooked, he would sell my ribbon collection to the highest bidder and use the proceeds to install stereo surround sound in his scrapping space. Then he would sell all the stamps and use the proceeds to buy some large invention involving a flat screen. Then one day I would come home to find all the paper had disappeared, the Expedit had been replaced by an overstuffed recliner, and a large assortment of additional gadgets with remote controls. When I ask what’s happened to all the scrapbooks, he tells me it was more beneficial to scan all the photos into digital files, back those files up on web servers in different locations all over the world and then free our home of all paper products and embellishments. As a result, he explains, we can now plug in lots of extra gadgets without fear of an electrical fire destroying our heirloom albums.
And then he would promptly stop scrapbooking and become some sort of world authority on mindless action films, the complete works of Top Gear or a video game with a parental advisory sticker.
So really, I think it’s best we just stick with me being the scrapbooker if it’s okay with you?
Feel free to ask the nearest male what would happen if he scrapbooked instead of you. Just be sure to dodge the glare of stone, okay? We want you to live so you can report back!
xlovesx
PS: Are you ready to party? A few things coming your way tonight, then mad-cap mania alllll weekend long! Bring it!
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