Hobby

Amalia Markovna was an enthusiastic woman. Her inquisitive nature grasped everything that the eye saw and the ear heard.

So, one day, she got carried away with decoupage furniture. And all relatives, acquaintances, and even unfamiliar people were afraid to meet her. Because it threatened a new chair in a small flower, or a miniature shelf on which abstract drawings were displayed, or a chest of drawers that was “lying in the trash, and I saved it.” But, it was not enough to receive such a gift. It was absolutely necessary to fit it into the interior, even if it did not fit there in any way. Otherwise, when she came to visit, and did not see her gift, Amalia Markovna was offended and, slamming the front door loudly, left, as it seemed forever.

But Amalia Markovna could not leave forever, because a new hobby overtook her quite suddenly. Like, for example, sewing textile dolls, which she saw at the city fair. And after all, it was necessary for the occasion to lead the offended Amalia Markovna exactly this way, when she walked completely different paths.

– Oh, what a charm! Amalia Markovna exclaimed when she saw a big—eyed doll in a guipure dress and with copper-colored hair.

– Completely handmade. The eyes are painted with acrylic paints, and the hair is made of Chinese silk. Take it. I’ll give it to you, as the first buyer, for five thousand,” said a lively woman, laying out other dolls on the tray.

Hearing the price, Amalia Markovna put down the big-eyed doll, looked contemptuously at the perky woman, and snorted to herself:” Completely stunned,” she walked away.

– A miser. You don’t know what manual work is,” a perky woman hissed after her.

Oh, the brisk woman did not know Amalia Markovna. After all, a new hobby had already arisen in her head and she ran home and tripped over a shoe shelf in a small flower, stretched out on the floor. But she had no time to get up. And she crawled right on her knees into the bedroom and took out a suitcase covered with a thick layer of dust from under the bed. Sitting on the floor, she opened it and her eyes lit up with a shine that was unkind to relatives, acquaintances, and unfamiliar people. Lace, ribbons, scraps, buttons, everything was not in this fabulous suitcase, which she got from her grandmother a professional seamstress.

And from that very moment she disappeared for society, for relatives, for acquaintances, and unfamiliar people. She cut the doll’s body, sewed, painted the face. She turned it over in her hands and critically examined it from all sides to understand which outfit would suit her. Then, for a long time and painfully, like a couturier, she sewed a dress on her hands, sewing lace, ribbons, beads. She even learned to embroider in different ways — cross stitch, stitch, stitch.

Amalia Markovna already had ten dolls on her shelf and they were all different in character.

The one with the eyes of different shapes, she called Zainka. Because she was cute, shy, and a little scared like a hare. And her fright and shyness were understandable, she was born first and adopted the fear of the hostess before the discovery of a new world.

But the one with the proud expression on her face, and in a dress embroidered with gold, was called Cleopatra. She was arrogant and beautiful as a queen. Amalia Markovna did not like her very much, but she admired her greatness and proud bearing.

But relatives, acquaintances, and unfamiliar people began to worry that they had not seen Amalia Markovna for a long time, and had not received such unnecessary, but cute gifts from her for a long time. Nothing bad would have happened, they thought, and dialed her phone number. And at the other end of the line, they muttered something inarticulate and hung up.

That’s right, something terrible happened, the callers thought, and ran home to Amalia Markovna as fast as they could.

And she, without even asking who, opened the front door, hurriedly greeted and ran into the hall, which was turned into a workshop. Surprised by such a reception, the guest tiptoed after him and a picture of utter chaos, which was called creative disorder, stopped before his eyes. There were scraps of cloth, buttons, beads, sewn doll bodies on the floor. And in the middle of this Armageddon sat Amalia Markovna, covered with fashion magazines, with a piece of cloth in her hands. Then the guest’s gaze turned to the shelf with dolls and an exclamation of delight escaped him.

“Don’t bother me, don’t bother me,” Amalia Markovna grumbled, irritably putting down a piece of cloth. She absolutely could not work under the eyes of curious guests, whom she did not invite. Therefore, she quickly escorted everyone out to be alone with her ideas.

And relatives, acquaintances, and unfamiliar people talked furtively among themselves, and secretly dreamed that Amalia Markovna would come to visit and bring one of her magnificent dolls as a gift.