Sew what?

I had alluded in an earlier post to the fact that it couldn’t get much crazier at Casa de Telega unless I woke up to find a goat in the bathtub eating the shower curtain. (No goats were harmed in the making of this analogy, and it was an ugly shower curtain anyway.)

A couple weeks ago, my daughter was stepping over a baby gate used to keep her dogs in the kitchen. She tripped and took a header onto the kitchen floor. She refused the breathalyzer, but there was an open container (box) of cheap red wine in the refrigerator. Coincidence? I’m not a doctor, but even I know that your shoulder shouldn’t be touching your elbow.

So she’s spending most of her days trying to find a position that doesn’t cause weeping and gnashing of teeth, and wondering in retrospect if she was wise to cancel her health insurance. Naturally, her thoughts immediately turned to mending—her clothes, not her shoulder.

She called and asked if I could bring my sewing basket to fix a rip in the lining of her husband’s leather jacket. This would involve sewing on my part. I have a pair of flannel jammies with a rip in the crotch. My philosophy: as long as you’re wearing clean underwear and your junk isn’t hanging out, you’re golden.

Since a ripped jacket lining is not cause for an indecent exposure arrest, this project seemed especially unworthy of my time. I left the sewing basket on her porch, rang the bell, and sprinted away.

When I broke my shoulder a few years ago, my daughter was there for me. She babysat me while my husband was at work. At no time did I ask her to do any sewing. What an idiot! Had I known that a broken shoulder was a free ticket to getting my jammies mended, I wouldn’t have had to change my underwear as often. Don’t get all uppity. Changing underwear with a broken shoulder requires a building permit and a licensed plumber. (Check Angie’s List before hiring Carl’s House of Hoses.)

Is it being selfish to refuse to squint until my eyes bleed while trying to thread a needle? It really all comes down to self-preservation. I can’t afford to be visually impaired in a house full of baby gates.

12 thoughts on “Sew what?

  1. Many decades ago my husband broke his collar bone and, being the ever dutiful wife, I catered to his every need for a few long, long weeks. He had to wear a clean white t-shirt every day but couldn’t even lift a tissue box. So, I cut the t-shirt up the back, slipped it on him, and sewed it closed. (Where was velcro when I needed it?)
    Only problem with this romantic, selfless gesture was that I could not sew. It was one ugly seam down his back.
    I tried to keep him away from all the mirrors.

    • “A” for ingenuity. “D” for execution. You don’t see that kind of commitment these days. Probably the velcro thing.

    • I have a pile of buttons on my dresser. They defected from the closet, so they’re currently under witness protection. Nobody will think to look for them there.

  2. I have the same needle threading issues. I thought about getting one of those big, funny-looking needles advertised on TV. I can’t remember what they’re called…I can barely remember they’re needles. I’m pretty sure they’re made for geezers like me.

    • Geezer needles, sign me up. Now if I could just see the damn thread, um, no, let’s get real. I still would have a hole in my jammies.

  3. I’m sorry to say you won’t be winning The June Cleaver Award but I’m with you. Sewing sucks!

  4. Karla, I agree. I hate sewing. I just can’t sit still that long for it; I did try cross-stitching once and that was more interesting because I was making a design. And I know what you mean about needle threading! I actually use those needle threaders (I’m sure you seen them)? They do help quite a bit so that at least the thread eventually gets into the eye of the needle. Buttons are probably my best and easiest job. Holes…depends. Hemming not so great, but if I must I somehow manage, but really it is like torture for me! And by the way, I hope your daughter gets well soon. I know it is difficult. Take care!

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