a fact that- due to some antiquated southern belief that no man could love a woman who cannot load a bobbin- horrifies my mother to no end.
i cannot sew, thus i will wind up old and alone and shabbily costumed and unevenly hemmed.
grey gardens minus the singing plus unused needles and threads.
this is my mother's Great Fear.
on an entirely unrelated note, tonight jmills and i are at long last- and no thanks to a downright harrowing registration system- embarking upon a sewing adventure at the needle shop.
for four hours.
yes, you read that right.
which is both a ridiculously ginormous amount of time and yet simply not enough.
do forgive my cynicism, but i highly doubt that over a period a mere 18 minutes longer than gone with the wind, we are going to "master the basics of sewing." if my earlier attempts at the basics of sewing are an indication, i will master nothing but the fundamentals of frustration.
thus, i'm quite sure this will end badly and have mentally prepped for a variety of unfortunate twists. namely, that we have unknowingly signed up for a lifetime of sweatshop servitude or sex slavery that- gilligan's island-style- will far outlast the four hour window i have allotted in my busy schedule for this class.
because this is how people- innocent, ignorant, and inculcated with an unconscious awareness that they are somehow rendered less womanly by an inability to wield a needle- wind up working for akouavi kpade afolabi and kathi lee gifford, right? they sign up for sewing 101.