Sew Ridiculous

"How's it going?" Rob asked cautiously as I sat on the floor deftly working my seam ripper.

"You know those projects where you procrastinate and then when you finally finish, it went so quickly you wonder why you put off doing it for so long?"

"Yeah," he replied with visible relief.

"This isn't one of those projects."

It turns out I cook better than I sew. That's quite a statement if you know me and my adventures in the kitchen. I think deep down I knew my sewing skills are rather farcical. That is why a stack of Rob's pants had been sitting on a table for nearly a year, gathering dust and quietly waiting to be hemmed. They were in a room most frequented by the cats. That would explain why the top pair of khakis was slowly turning black and fuzzy.

I knew I needed a big chunk of Zen-infused time to tackle the hemming. The newness of my sewing machine was also an obstacle. I had managed to break the old one (it took some effort but I finally managed to get it to seize up so I could ditch it and its infuriating bobbin loader). I had used the new machine just once and was thrilled with its Toni-proof bobbin system, but was a touch overwhelmed by the 25 different stitch options. I also learned a few things about tension that day.

With a long trip looming where those pants will be necessary...and with time quickly running out to move on to Plan B (Grace the Alterations Lady) if I crashed and burned and seized miserably...I decided it was finally time to tackle the pants.

I think I am most proud of the fact that the worst curse word I said all day was "Damn!" Truly, the situation warranted many symbols. I made up for my decorum by damning just about every tool and accessory involved in hemming pants. Bobbins, thread spools, three different kinds of needles, presser feet, straight pins, scissors, even my beloved seam ripper...they were all damned with gusto.

I learned a few things. Such as the importance of keeping track of the entire pant leg so as not to sew the leg closed. And the value of using a Denim Needle for fabrics such as denim. And that denim is really really really thick when you double it over itself, twice (quadruple it?). And that that situation is outside the specs for your standard Denim Needle. I learned that it is possible to break the needle in your sewing machine and that it makes a really mad clunking noise when you try to sew anyway. I am now expert in replacing the needle in my sewing machine as I got to practice the skill three times.

By the end of it, I had ripped out enough thread to fashion a wig for Barbie. My right index finger eventually stopped bleeding. I'm still working on the resulting laundry. But Rob now has six new-to-him pairs of pants in his repertoire and he's promised me chocolate.

There are rumors of some socks that need repair. I'm not convinced I know how to darn them. But I am most certain I can damn them like a pro.