Sewing is not my thing. It's never been, not even when I was able to hand stitch pillows together in Home Economics class, not when I tried to make MC Hammer pants. I've just never been good at it or enjoyed it. I've always been a little jealous of those who can sew outfits, curtains, whatever. It's just not me. In fact, the sewing responsibilities usually fall on Mr. BBM in this household. I just don't have the patience for it. I can't even make a button stay on a coat longer than a day or two.
So you can imagine how frustrating it was for me to see that I had to sew a patch on my new black belt. Black belts are like the thickness of a California Redwood tree. Sewing anything onto them is especially challenging.
The night I was promoted, I asked Mr. BBM if he would sew my patch on, but it was late when we got home and it didn't happen. The next night, I asked him to try.
He broke two needles in the process, the thread tore halfway through the project, and it was barely on when all was said and done. Half of it was lifting up so I ripped it off and decided I could live for a class or two without my kobudo patch sewn onto my belt.
Last week, I went to the fabric store in search of Patch Attach. I've heard wonderful things about it and figured the couple dollars was well worth it. I came home and opened it up. Mr. BBM promptly threw the instructions away. I discovered this while he was at work. He's a lucky man.
I looked it up on the internet and found the instructions. You're supposed to apply the glue and then let it sit for 10 minutes before affixing to the fabric. So, I prepared the patch and promptly forgot about it, never getting the chance to glue it onto the belt. I even set a timer. Unfortunately, you can't hear a timer when you're outside helping your daughter ride her bike.
I came inside, noticed my mess-up and scraped all the Patch Attach off with my fingernail. I applied the glue again. This time I followed the directions, waited, and then pressed it onto my obi. I had the iron waiting. I followed the directions exactly. I finished with the iron, picked up my obi and off fell the patch.
You've got to be kidding me.
I repeated the process by scraping the glue off again. I also cleaned off the surface of my belt. I even scraped the back of the patch a bit with a knife just to make sure the glue would take the second time around.
It didn't.
Mr. BBM came home to find me in a fury of frustration. I wanted to get mine on before Lil C found it and decided to shove it down the air conditioning vent, like she sometimes does with random Cheerios she finds from time to time.
So today I went back to the fabric store. This time I took my belt and the patch along. I walked up to the woman who looked like she sews wedding gowns over her lunch hour and asked her what I needed to make this work.
She led me to some curved needles and I then went to find the most heavy duty thread I could find. I couldn't find fishing reel so I settled for coat thread. I also bought a thimble. Mr. BBM's fingers could have strained pasta when he was finished with his first attempt. I knew he wasn't going to volunteer to help. This time it was up to me. This time, I wasn't messing around.
Tonight I settled down around 10 p.m. to start the kobudo patch project. I went through several transformations during the 70 minutes it took me to sew that patch onto my obi.
I became my Mom. . . "Oh for Pete's sake. . . ".
I became my Dad. . . "Son of a . . . . "
I became a hypochondriac. . . "I think I have arthritis or something. Why is this so freaking hard to get the needle through? Why do my fingers hurt so badly? Something must be wrong with me!"
I became Big I. . . (throws head back and moans audibly so the entire house can hear before making horrible sounds with my throat and then almost screaming out "WHY? WHY? WHY?" while watching myself make horrible faces in front of a mirror before realizing that I'd wake up the girls and that might make things even worse).
I became my father-in-law as I thought, "Now who could I get to do this for me? Who's better at sewing than I am? Who could I compliment right into them doing this for me?" (I realized the answer to a better person was "everyone" but that no one was really biting to help).
I became Lil C as I contemplated having a snack instead of putting myself through any more of the torture.
I became a pin cushion, literally, as I stuck the curved needle right into my middle finger and out my skin a centimeter over from the starting point. Ouch.
And then I turned back into myself and decided that this too was part of my black belt test; this too was a mountain I'd have to climb, a test of my patience and ambition. I assured myself that I could do it, and I did. It may have taken me 70 minutes. My fingers still hurt typing this now, but it's done. The kobudo patch is on and I can officially go back to the status of "not sewing" again.
Unless of course, someone is looking for MC Hammer pants, in which case, we'll talk.
