Don’t tell my Dad….

that I can’t sew…

Oh yeah and a lot of other things related to home economics. I have this favorite short pants—and the zipper was broken. For quite some time it has been sitting in my cabinet. It ’s very disappointed because I am not doing anything for fix it. Until finally, I decided to grow a backbone and do some more damage.

So Satuday evening I attempted to undo the broken zipper and replace it with a functional one. Like a surgeon conducting a transplant, I took out the old one with my blade (the one I use for shaving my eyebrows–yeah, that’s called improvisation).

It took me about 1 and a half hours to stitch the whole thing in place. And yeah, that was A for effort.

The next day I decided to wear it for the practice, because it’s one of the two most comfortable short pants I have in my entire life.

So I was moving around (more than the usual) and I suddenly noticed ( and good thing that I am still fully aware that my sewing skills can be compared to my knowledge in quantum physics) that the stitches are slowly undoing itself—–not completely because that can actually cause social suicide for me.

HOLY SHEEEZ. I don’t want to get accused of flashing. Certainly, that was not the intention of wearing those pants. It’s for the sole comfort that it brings. 

It’s a good thing that I actually wore a longer shirt to cover up the mistake that I did. 

Thing is I cannot and will never be a good seamstress or a tailor. It’s basically goes to the list of things I can and will never do even if it’s the only job left in the world.

So yeah. I’m good at concealing things. Fortunately, no one noticed my slight wardrobe malfunction.

Bax still holds the record for the move-out-of-town embarrassing experience brought about my her scandalous mishap.

Thank you, Jesus.