Adventures in Domesticity

So JC Penneys had a great sale on mens jeans a few weeks ago, and Nate and I went to try to find him a few new pairs. Two pairs, one of which the crotch is ripping out of, is not really adequate, we thought, so off we went in the great search for jeans. I don't know who they use as a model to make pants these days, but it is certainly not anyone built like Nate or I, so we always approach pants shopping with a bit of hesitation, knowing that it will take many days and rejecting many pairs before finding one that fits even sort of well.

The good Lord was watching over us on this particular shopping day, though, because in less than two hours' time we found three pairs that looked really good and fit well...except that they were about 8 inches too long. Realizing that this was such a small problem compared to the much larger problem of not finding pants at all, Nate looked at me and said, "Well, can't you just hem them?" I love that the word "just" almost always comes before "hem" whenever "hem" is used. It implies an ease, a certain confidence about the simplicity of the activity of hemming something. "Sure," I say, "I can just hem them up." It's easy.

Except I can't sew. I can't correctly thread the machine (that I don't even have!). I have not the faintest idea what a bobbin is, why I need it, or where it goes. The extent of my sewing experience is pulling the pins out of quilts before my grandma expertly passed them under the needle, and piecing together a doll dress when I was 13...and by "piecing" I mean that I cut out the pieces and my mom sewed them together. This has never been a problem until now, when my husband's wardrobe and our ability to make budget this month ride on my being able to alter the only three affordable pairs of pants on the planet that fit him.

Well, I borrowed a machine and had the woman show me how to thread it, and so far I have hemmed (not "just hemmed", just "hemmed") two pairs of pants and patched a hole. I'm down to the second leg of the third pair of pants and just now things started going horribly wrong. Everything on the machine looks the same as it did when I started, I think, but the stitches are all messed up now and it is making a big mess. So I stopped to calm down and try to call someone to come over and help me. I'm glad I live really far away from my Home Ec teacher right now...she'd be disappointed with me, I think. Well, I'm disappointed with her. Why couldn't she make that one week of sewing in 8th grade more memorable?!?!??!