You know how there's that one thing you will always muck up, no matter how much practice you've had? No? Well, I have that one thing, and that thing is threading a needle. I've done all kinds of other things that are much more complicated..like Yoga-Asanas, learning how to cook, repairing broken furniture (you get the general idea..). You'd think threading a needle should be a breeze. It's not. And to all those of you who can sew, I don't care for your eye-rolls, and I certainly don't care to acknowledge the fact that you find this thing simple. I will ignore you for the rest of this post. (But don't stop reading!!!)
Way back in middle school (circa 1994) we'd have this slot every week called 'Work Experience'. Looking back, I don't think people would've been lining up to give us jobs on the strength of this. All of us would eagerly look forward to these classes because it meant being able to put away the boring textbooks, and basically faff as much as you could possibly manage for two whole hours.
That is, everyone except me. Because you see, while there were such cool things as gardening, textile dyeing and baking, I got drafted into needlework! WTF!? I mean seriously..I blame my genes for this. I've always been told I look like a "good girl", so I guess I just seemed like one of those girls that would take well towards domestication and such harmless, housewifely activities as sewing a button and darning a hole in my future husbands Lungis.
In any case, I accepted my lot, and channeled my resentment into dreams of being the 'Mistress of Seams'. I only managed 'Mistress of Screams' from nearly sewing my fingers into the damn cloth, time and time again. And this was only after I managed to thread the needle - which meant I "sewed" for about 10 minutes total every class.
Considerably injured, and insulted relentlessly by the teacher, who had rubbished me in every way from my femininity to my general human worth, I reached a point where I wanted to learn how to sew just so I could seal that mouth shut.
Thanks to some of my talented peers, we were all compulsorily enrolled into an embroidery contest at the end of the term, and I was given a handkerchief with a pre-drawn design of flowers. I had helped my Mum do one of those cross-stitch art things, and I was a little less intimidated about this contest than my classes. I finished before time, and took my work to the teacher, who was wide-eyed with surprise as she told me I'd done a brilliant job.
Then it all went to shit. She turned the hankie over and her expression changed to one of utter disgust while she showed the whole class what I had done. The sight of the massive multi-coloured bunch of knotted threads haunts me to this day. No one told me the back mattered.
I managed to whine and beg my mother to do my class assignments for me, and I scraped through with a non-fail grade. I vowed then that I would never, ever pick up a needle again.
Cut to 2010. I'm tired of explaining my designs to tailors, and I am fed up of them botching my grand plans consistently. In light of these distressing developments, I decided to suck up the residual self pity and enrolled myself in a sewing class. Shockingly, I have not been thrown out, and I will admit under extreme blackmail to actually enjoying it. *GULP* They say admission is the first step to recovery..so hopefully my classes will continue to be injury less, and while I still struggle with the needle threading part..it sure feels good to plan my comeback - which will involve shoving a wonderfully finished garment in the face of my middle school teacher.
