I have short legs. And while it's royally annoying, I've learned to live with it. When others buy Regular jeans, I buy Ankle pants and wear them as, uh, pants pants. Again, annoying, but I've accepted the fact that somewhere in my family tree of exceptionally tall people there was a gene for shortness and yours truly was the recipient. Fortunately for me my husband knows how to sew. All of my new pants go directly to Colton to be hemmed before I ever wear them. It's convenient, to say the least. I on the other hand, do not know how to sew. With the exception of one night last fall when I had the insatiable urge to make new throw pillows, I've really never touched a sewing machine. I don't know how to thread a needle or fill a bobbin, and God help us if the machine should stop working. I like to subscribe to the 'poke-a-button-until-it-works' theory of fixing things. And last week during our trip to the fabric store Colton became painfully embarrassed when I asked the clerk to help me find some string. You know, string to use in my sewing machine??
But all this changed a few days ago when I decided I was making new seat covers for my office chairs. I gave Cole the option of helping me or letting me go rogue with the project. And knowing the fate of his beloved sewing machine was in my hands, he gave me a lesson on the essentials before politely asking me to use the word thread instead of string the next time we were in public.
For my first legit attempt at sewing, I like to think I did alright. I've positioned the chairs directly in front of my desk so I can spend the entire day reminding myself of the feat I accomplished. And also to remind myself that thread, not string, is what you put through a needle.