Sew Stupid

inspired by project runway (and surprised by how to pronounce milliner philip treacy’s surname), i just sewed a button back onto sassafrass’s knit top. applause, applause.

that, dear readers, is pretty much the extent of my skill with a needle and thread. recently i repaired a rip on the sleeve of the lord & master’s favorite soft flannel shirt, the result being a frankenstein-like scar that tightened the sleeve beyond the l&m’s ability to push his arm through it. now it’s a gym coverup for sassy.

our father bought a sewing machine when i was a kid. i think he thought that since there were people with vaginas living in the house, we’d automatically know how to use it. and he’d save a bundle if we made our own clothing. as if. it remained an oversized paperweight for the duration of its lifetime in the basement.

back in the day, home ec was required at my junior high. (fyi, youngsters, middle school used to be called junior high – it was grades 7, 8 & 9. you know, the fun years.) those cooking and sewing classes ruined my precious GPA, the holy grail our parents relentlessly cracked a whip about. they didn’t care what we learned or that failure was a lesson in itself; it was a steady diet of A’s they insisted upon. i did achieve their desired goal the first quarter of 7th grade. my mother had one comment: “how come so many A minuses?”

meanwhile, back in the junior high Singer sweatshop, i provided endless amusement. while whipping up a culotte dress, i mis-measured and couldn’t stand up straight in my garment. the teacher instructed me to insert extra fabric around the lower inseam/privates skimming area. i dutifully added new material, jumped into my outfit, and emerged from the dressing area with a drooping pouch hanging like a medieval codpiece off the crotch of my masterpiece. not only did my classmates erupt in laughter, but even the poor teacher had tears streaming down her face. hard to believe i was dumb enough not to catch my mistake before parading it before everyone. my nerd status ratcheted up a few knots from that fiasco.

so, i’ll keep my sidelines seat admiring the confections the project runway contestants conjure up. some of us are fated to buy, not create.


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