Yesterday was not a good day, sewing-wise.
I was working at a disadvantage from the start, having sliced open my finger on a kitchen knife in the washing up bowl the previous evening.
This made the job of stuffing pincushions somewhat unpleasant, as the stuffing’s fibres kept catching on – and reopening – the cut. Youch.
Anyway, I got these couple of tweeties done (apart from stuffing) and decided to finish off the day making a pair of patchwork cushions. But that was before I had a run in with an untidy workroom – and a senior moment. I have two zip stashes. The last bit of my old roll of zip, and a brand new roll, bought a few weeks ago. I thought, logically, I should use up the little bit first.
But could I find it?
Could I heck.
I know I took it to sewing class to use in my frock. But this knowledge has not, so far, resulted in it’s retrieval. I have the sliders (is that the technical term?) for it, but no actual zip.I think it may be lurking in a carrier bag, the location of which is somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle.
You know the place. There’s one in every home. The place of things-you-know-you-have-somewhere-but-can’t-quite-put-your-hand-on. That place.
To make matters worse, hiding in a second and entirely separate Bermuda Triangle, were the sliders for my new roll of zip.
And needless to say, the sliders from the old zip proved incompatible with the new zip. Cue wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth.
Eventually I located the new sliders. Phew. And then spent a good half hour trying to get one of them and a length of zip to get acquainted. Somehow, despite having previously fitted hundreds of the things (cue renewed gnashing of teeth with added tearing of hair) - I had lost the knack.
And then; THEN…
I sewed not one but TWO zips in. And both were….
I haven’t yet had the heart to unpick them. I needed to do something else instead. Like drink wine and watch telly until I calmed down.
Today’s another day. I will try again. I will have things to sell on my stall next weekend. I will get things made.
And whilst trying I will remember the words of one Mr Barry Manilow.
Who despite sounding like he’d had a bit of a ‘mare himself (although under entirely different and non-sewing-related circumstances) still manages to come out of the experience singing, “Bermuda Tri-an-gle, not so bad”.