Over the weekend, a rip developed in my jeans, turning them into Peek-a-boo Pants. Now I have a dilemma. Do I fix them and be modest or do I leave them as is and be cool. (Get it? "Cool"? Oh, never mind.)
My regular readers can probably guess how dangerous I am with a sharp object in my hand, like a needle or a pair of scissors. To say that I am bad when it comes to sewing is like saying that Uwe Boll is bad when it comes to film making. It doesn't convey the full sense of the badness. Whole flavours of awful are missing from that statement.
So when we were forced to sew something in mandatory "Home Economics" class, I chose to make pyjama bottoms. I figured no one would ever see me wearing them, so no matter how badly they turned out, I'd look OK. I chose flannel as my fabric. Off-white flannel with purple and rose striping. (God I was dumb when I was a teenager.)
They say you should measure twice and cut once. I measured fifteen times and cut twice. Fortunately I'd thought to buy lots of extra fabric. I followed the pattern and worked painstakingly for days and days. Finally my tailoring masterpiece was complete. I tried them on.
They actually fit, but one leg was somehow shorter than the other. I took them off and measured them. Both legs were exactly the same length. I put them back on. One leg was shorter. Great, I'd created Twilight Zone pyjamas. And they got really hot and itchy at night.
Years later I remembered those pyjamas fondly while repairing a rip in my suit pants. I had learned much by then and was actually capable of invisible mending. I slowly fixed my pants and the seam was as close to perfect as I'd ever done. I was so proud of myself. I turned the pants over to see how the seam looked from the outside. Actually, they wouldn't turn over. Something was wrong.
I had sewn my pants to my pants.
To clarify: I had sewn my suit pants to the jeans I was wearing, while I'd stiched away with them in my lap.
And you wonder why I'm reluctant to fix the new rip in my jeans?
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