Or stitching things.
I have about eight pairs of jeans that I wear on a regular basis. Of these, about five subject me to some level of mockery for their color or tightness, which leaves me with three jeans that I can wear just about anywhere.
Until recently, it didn't occur to me that they could wear out. I knew I could spill stuff on them and stain them, or I could catch them in something and rip them, or I could get fat and they might not fit any longer. But having them just start to dissolve? I guess intellectually I knew, but emotionally I hadn't come to grips with it. It was like my own death or a woman being President of the US... it's inevitable, but it's something I guess I don't like to think about.
Fortunately, the jeans I have are capable of having some holes and worn spots in them without being entirely useless... one might even argue that the way my wallet creates an impression in my back pocket or the way creases form around my package gives the pair of pants a look that is uniquely "me". One might argue that, and one might be punched in the face by fashion-indifferent homophobes, depending on where the argument is made.
Unfortunately, one of my pairs of jeans got to the point where critical failures were appearing: the left rear pocket was starting to rip off on one side and, more shockingly, a tear in the crotch had appeared, potentially revealing my extravagantly colored underwear to prying eyes.
Some weeks back, I had some decisions to make: stop wearing the jeans or power through until they were just a blue-tinted layed of dust on my lower body? Fix the jeans or throw them away and rely on my other pairs?
In my current state of financial ambiguity, buying a replacement pair is out of the question, so I invested about $7 in a set of needles and an assortment of colored threads (you read "needles" and thought it was a heroin joke, didn't you?). I figured that I could whip-stitch the pants and get a few more decades of use out of them.
Of course, I have no idea what "whip-stitching" is. It's a term that my mother seemed to use occasionally as I was growing up but one that I never tended to learn. She probably told me--she might even have showed me--what was involved, but I didn't pick it up. I have blind spots in my ability to retain knowledge. I was helping my parents with balancing the home finances when I was in, like, sixth grade but I still would have trouble checking the oil level in my car, for example.
Anyway, I figured that in spite of my ignorance I would be able to figure it out. Stitching is something that has been going on forever--at least since the 1960's, according to my research--and I thought that, with some trial and error, I'd be able to figure it out.
As I said, that was some weeks back. I bought the needles and thread and placed them in a secure location in my kitchen and promptly ignored them. My jeans continued to fray and I managed to vacuum my apartment about 25 times, but still I ignored the task of fixing my jeans because I didn't have the first idea where to start.
This afternoon, rather than go for vacuuming number 26, I decided to take a crack at it.
Where did I start? I gathered the items I thought I'd need:
- The jeans in question
- The thread (still in the package)
- The needles (still in the package)
- A pair of scissors
As I so often do, I plopped down in front of my computer desk. I am 100% confident that, no matter what the problem facing me, I can Google it and get an answer. "Surely," I thought, "Google will link me to a simple 'How to Fix Expensive Jeans for Newbies' site (maybe with an embedded video tutorial) and I'll be ready to go."
Unfortunately, in spite of my supreme confidence and considerable skill with the market-leading search engine, I pretty much came up empty. I found information on patching and on sewing from scratch but I didn't have much luck with the very very basics of sewing/stitching/whatever and so I turned to the non-virtual world to see if I could figure it out.
The choice of threads was easy. I went with dark blue. So far, so good.
The choice of needles was a bit more difficult. I had three that seemed to be reasonable size for the job, and I chose the middle of those three. After much difficulty with the packaging (which seemed to be, essentially, embedding the needles in solid plastic with a veneer of paper on the back) I extracted the needle... and promptly reconsidered my selection.
The eye of the needle was too large for the thread, and I thought maybe I should go with the smaller needle. I was feeling quite indecisive and part of me worried that I was going to shelve the project and bust out the Dyson vacuum, after all.
Have you ever read or heard about when an army is shipped to a foreign shore? They are dropped off and they face long odds and morale is low ... so the generals burn the ships, ensuring the only way to live was to win the upcoming battle?
Well, there was no shop-burning here, but my impending paralysis by analysis was alleviated when I attempted to remove the smaller needle from the packagine. I performed the same routine as I had previously, which involved poking and tearing and bending the packaging... but this time I heard a "snap" and the entire top (or bottom? the part with the eye, in any case) snapped off the needle... and I was left with my first selection as my only option.
I got my sewing second wind at this point, some 20 minutes after I decided to fix the jeans, and, after some difficulty locating the end of the blue thread on the spool, managed to secure the thread to the needle.
The spool, of course, revealed its mischievous streak at this point and fell to the ground, rolling some ten feet across my well-vacuumed carpet. My sharp curse alerted Potter, my youngest cat, and he swooped in and started playing with it. I knew that my jeans were actually farther away from being fixed than they had been when I'd rolled out of bed at the crack of noon today, but I shoo'd Mr. Potts away and gathered myself (and the thread) and got to work.
After about an hour (really!) of trial and error, I managed to stitch together the hole. I think I secured either end of the thread, and although I'm not certain how well it will hold up over time, I am confident that in the short run the odds of either or both of my testicles falling out of my pants are much lower.
I still have to tackle the back pocket. Wish me luck...
No comments:
Post a Comment