I have a canvas problem.
Like millions of Americans, I have to pay a lot of money to buy the kind of canvases I want, and, despite this, I have a mounting stash problem that’s not going away.
Now I’m aware that in Europe they already have a solution to this situation.
It’s called Universal Canvas Insurance.
Gloomy places like Sweden — where all people do during their overlong winters is drink schnapps, watch depressing old Bergman movies, and commit suicide — all have it.
Or France — I’m sure many of us still remember when it was derided as that land of cheese-eating surrender stitchers.
That’s not for us.
Universal Canvas Insurance is nothing but stinking socialism, and we’ll have none of that sort of thing here. I know this, because I’m a FOX ditzohead.
In America, we value our canvas independence. In fact, we value it fiercely. This is because we’re Americans. Don’t tread on our canvases! say many of us.
But I’m still stuck with my excess needlepoint canvas problem, not to mention the price thingie.
Oh, Godfather, what to do?
At first, I thought I could convince the ANG to sponsor the idea of a canvas exchange, you know, a web site that would bring down canvas prices, by forcing needlepoint shop owners to compete for your business.
But I soon realized that would never work.
Needlepoint shop owners are too ornery a lot to go for any canvas exchange scheme. It would be like herding cats. Besides which, too many of them already dump their slow-moving inventory on the QT on Ebay and Amazon at cut rate prices.
Instead, I thought why not just address the second part of my problem.
The stash part.
After all, I ran out of closet space long ago, and have to rent an air-conditioned storage unit at this place down on US1 that’s setting me back $200 a month.
Why not just have Needlepoint Land offer stash insurance instead?
I might even be able to persuade the ANG to pass an industry bylaw, which of course would be known as the Affordable Canvas Act.
Yes, that was it.
I knew I was onto something.
This way I could soon be rolling in money, and would be able to afford to watch my beloved NY Jets play hated Miami in December in the VIP section at Sun Life stadium, no matter what they’re paying Roger Goodell these days.
I figured it would work something like this.
I would offer stitchers the opportunity to insure they would finish their canvases within 1 year of purchase.
If they didn’t finish stitching a canvas within a year, they would simply return the canvas to the store where they bought it, and Needlepoint Land would refund either 60, 80 or 90 per cent of what they paid for it, depending on which precious metal plan they had purchased from me.
It was a brilliant. Pure genius in its simplicity.
I knew there were millions of uninsured stitchers out there would were just dying to have something like this.
For their peace of mind.
To be able to stitch, or not, with confidence.
I was just about to announce the plan, and rejig my blog site to accommodate this incredible new business model, when paranoia struck.
Let’s be honest here: I’m not the only who has this secret affliction. It’s just not something anyone likes to talk about openly.
The shame of it, you know… oh the false shame of being told I have no stash insurance because I’m just a freeloader who doesn’t feel like stitching hard enough to get it.
But what if suddenly I was on the hook for all those other stitchers who have one, two, three storage units chock full of stash out there?
Needlepoint Land would go bankrupt in a day.
I might lose the house.
My husband might even Baker Act me.
Because I know, I just know that all those stitchers who always finish their canvases would never buy stash insurance. The ones whose sharp eyes are not bigger than their needles, so to speak.
They would just keep buying one or two canvases at a time, stitch them up in a reasonable period, and leave me holding the bag for all those high-risk stitchers with severe stash problems.
And I also realized that all those stuck up New York stitchers, who already have canvas insurance from their employers, like I once did, well, they sure as fudge would never go for this scheme.
Ditto all those retired as well as sadly indigent needlepoint stitchers, who already get their needlepoint canvas insurance from the government, well, them too — never go for it.
So I realized in a moment of clarity what a bad, bad idea this Affordable Canvas Act idea was after all.
Thank heaven I woke up in time.
I’m going to pass on it. Easy-peasy, no problemo.
I mean, nobody actually needs this ridiculous canvas insurance.
Just one thing, though.
Needlepoint is only a hobby.
I would hate to be without insurance for something that actually was liable to turn into a serious matter, maybe even a choice between life and death, and not simply involve a pastime where the worst that could happen was me pricking my finger with a stitching needle every now and then.
Now that might just ruin my day.
Erin McGrath and Needlepointland.com, 2012 – 2016