Meet Fassbender. He’s 35, a registered Democrat and a big fan of Chanel. The vision in pink on the right is his lady friend, Chardonnay. As it was wine that facilitated the creation of these fine specimens, it seemed only right to name one of them after the vine.
Fassbender is the glorious result of my most recent challenge to learn how to sew. That’s right, people; until last Thursday, I had yet to master the needle and thread. There were a few vague attempts made during home economics class in school, but such domestic pursuits fell by the wayside when I decided I wanted to become an FBI agent and ought to develop more pertinent skills, such as inconspicuous stalking (which, incidentally, I excelled at. The stalking. Not so much the going unnoticed.)
But with my wedding less than four months away, I reckoned that, if Dex is bringing business acumen and therefore, potential big earnings to the marital table (as a journalist, I’m sure as hell not), I ought to be offering more than just a hot body and excellent interpretative dance moves; it was time to develop some wifely skills.
I enlisted the help of my friend Rachel, homemaker extraordinaire, who conveniently lives at the end of my road. I brought all the necessaries: socks, buttons, a “Barack Obama for President” badge (I wasn’t planning on my sock puppet having any political affiliations, but as the badge was in my miscellaneous drawer along with the buttons, I figured Fassbender may as well be of the left), and wine. Rachel had a sewing box full of coloured threads, scraps of fabrics and some delicious homemade red velvet cupcakes. If this is homemaking, sign me up.
We started by threading the needle. This is not as easy as it looks (though Rach’s wide-eyed incredulity suggested otherwise). It took me several attempts but I got there in the end. Next, I had to tie the ends of the string into a double knot, which I couldn’t do without help as it’s nigh impossible to tie a knot in same place twice. (Again, Rachel begs to differ.)
The actual sewing was rather therapeutic. Working the needle in and out of the sock de-stressed me and I began to feel like I could achieve anything. Maybe I’d ditch publishing and set up a sewing school in the countryside for other women keen to escape the rat race. By day, we would bake scones and milk cows and by night, we would make patchwork quilts and gossip about our menfolk and — ooh, another glass of wine would be great, Rach, thanks.
It wasn’t the most elegant of jobs, and I had to start over several times as the thread kept clumping, but soon I had fashioned Fassbender with a very fine pair of Chanel-style button eyes.
You’re probably wondering why I chose to name my sock puppet after the star of X Men and Shame. I credit my gutter-dwelling friend Nikki with the inspiration. During lunchtime that day, my sister called to tell me that the previous evening she’d been to see Shame, in which Michael Fassbender reveals the full extent of his manhood. She confided that she’d never seen anything so big and was transfixed. (Apologies to my Dad and especially to her boyfriend if you’re reading)
Naturally, I immediately emailed Nikki, who had also seen the film and, though her critique could have put Barry Norman out of a job, at no stage had she mentioned the salient part of the movie — Michael Fassbender, full-frontal exposure.
“Oh, yeah,” she wrote back casually. “It’s massive. But sure, everyone knows that. He got his lad out in Hunger, too.”
We moved on to less earthy matters but when Nikki heard that Rach and I were making sock puppets that evening, she inquired as to whether they were intended as warmers for Michael Fassbender’s member.
And so Fassbender was born.
After making his eyes, I sewed on wool for his hair, a Chanel ribbon around his head and some wonky red lips. I have never been more proud of anything I have created and now I get new parents when they gush about how awesome it is to bring new life into the world. I stuck Fassbender on the empty wine bottle and carried him home down the street to the bemusement of passers-by. He now sits proudly on the dining table, much to Dex’s chagrin. I tweeted a picture of him to the real Fassbender but haven’t heard anything back yet. I decided not tell him what the sock was intended for (I doubt Dex would still want to marry me if I were facing charges of sexual harassment) so I just look like a freaky obsessed fan, which is slightly embarrassing, considering I’ve never actually seen any of the man’s movies. But like I said, stalking is something I’m actually good at. Not so challenged after all, eh?