Black Thread

I have a fantasy romance with sewing. It's what I call girl's carpentry. Sewing is like driving a car but better, because you stay at home and usually don't get into a wreck or get tickets. In college I sewed two blouses with the help of a friend. I still have them, and I am proud of them. I have always been sentimental about my clothes. I adore fabric and when a favorite shirt or skirt or jeans wears out I save it for the chance I might repair it or recycle it into something like a quilt or a bag or a potholder. I am seduced by the remnant orphan fabrics at the bargain fabric outlets. Fabric to me is another form of art supplies. The only problem is I rarely sew except for quick repairs. Perhaps I dream too big. I dream of making dresses and skirts and vests. Recently a hem came apart on my new favorite polka dotted skirt. I knew if I washed it before mending it it would unravel and become worse. I sat down at the machine. It was threaded with black. My skirt is white with colorful dots. I decided to sew the hem anyway because I knew another decade would go by if I didn't. I told myself do it. If it bugs you you can change it later. Do it now and wear the skirt today. I was right. Sometimes black thread is better than no thread. I have to chuckle every time I glance at the hem. It makes my skirt look inside out!