Who folds these things anyway?
I can just picture them in the pattern folding factory...
200+ women sit with wide intent eyes, pens posed to start scribbling out notes.
A heavy set man with beady eyes and stained armpits enters the room with a stack of thin, brown paper.
It's clean and flat. No wrinkles. No folds.
He holds it up to the crowed. Waving it to and fro. Letting the wind gently grab the edges and make a fluttering noise.
The excitement builds. The tension grows thick.
Mr. Beady eyes passes out stacks to his minions.
His moist breathing and heavy footfalls echoing in the room.
He takes his place at the front again and from the lectern he pulls out an envelope.
It measures smaller than a Kodak moment.
His voice rumbles like thunder through the room.
The woman jump, the paper crackles.
"EACH PIECE OF PAPER MUST BE FOLDED 3,297 AND A HALF TIMES!!!
All eyes widen as they look at the thin, brown papers in front of them.
The door closes. The man is gone.
No worries, no patterns were harmed in the making of this mess.
Okay I lied.
I'm elbow deep in pattern pieces.
Just trying to unfold them now.
I'll let you know if anything comes of it.