07 Feb 2003
Title: Björnen hata mig* (The Bear Hates Me)
Pairing: 1+R
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Don't own the boy or the bear. (Or the gundams, though there aren't any of those in this story anyway.)
What to expect: Hetero-ai, fluff, abuse of craft supplies.
Notes: For Yoiko. ^___^
*Special thanks to Little C, who cleaned up my woeful attempt at Swedish!
This ficlet was brought to you by Episode 51 of Card Captor Sakura, and by the dolphin plushie kit I made in seventh grade home ec. (And I know he gives her a bear for her birthday; this is a different one. ^_~ And anyway, the fact that it's a Valentine's Day present here is part of why the story is for Yoiko.)
The box said this was an easy project. There were daisies--five for most difficult, one for easiest. This kit was rated at two daisies
.The box lied.
The lying box contained one folded sheet of brown plush fabric, one bag of poly fiberfill, and two shiny black eyes. A paper pattern. Thread. Two needles (one was a spare--which was a good thing, since you broke the first one sometime during day one). A red ribbon to tie around the neck of the finished object. There was also a sheet of instructions, which appear to be in Swedish.
You considered learning Swedish specifically to complete this mission--project--bear--but after some deliberation decided it would be overkill.
(Overkill was once a foreign concept to you; she has explained it, with considerable vehemence, and now it makes perfect sense. Most of the time.)
Step one: pin the pattern to the fabric. Step two: cut out bear parts and discard pattern. So far, so good.
Step three: assemble.
You are still on step three, after approximately 2.6 days of attempted sewing. This bear, you have concluded, does not want to be a bear. The notches, which are supposed to ensure proper alignment of the pieces, do not line up; the furry fabric slips and frays with the gentlest handling. Even callused fingers will bleed, if impaled repeatedly upon a needle. The bear on the box continues to smile its broad, complacent smile; in fact, from certain angles it appears to be laughing at you. The disembodied bear head in your hands looks depressed.
At last, however, all pieces are stitched together. You turn the limp bearskin right side out, via a hole in the back seam that was left for this purpose, and poke stuffing into its various protrusions. So far, so good: there is a head-shaped lump at the top, and several vaguely tubular extensions that could pass for limbs.
You hold the finished article at arm's length, comparing it to the picture on the box.
The ears on your bear are pointed. Bears do not have pointed ears. Also, your bear's legs appear to be on backwards.
(For a moment, you wonder if she would notice. Has she ever seen a real bear? She would probably pretend not to notice, and would take the bear-type object into her careful hands with a smile bright enough to illuminate deep space. As if it were good enough. As if it were perfect.)
You reach for the scissors.
There are 47 hours between now and Valentine's Day; plenty of time to learn Swedish.
-end-
(:./lilias/bjorn)
