Let’s say, that you were very much a knitter, and less so a sewer – and let’s say that you decided to do a very simple sewing project.  Let’s say – even, because it’s true, that you only decided to do that sewing project because when it was done it would be a vehicle for knitting, and that made it seem all right to you.

Let’s say also, that you have a brand-spankin’ new sewing machine that you said you wanted, and even though it turns out that your husband really got that sewing machine so that he could learn to sew and make things for the boat, you really feel like you should use it. (Let’s say that things are also more or less square between you and said husband, because you delayed telling him that you can buy bias tape until he’d made a few million metres of it.)  Let’s say also that you may, or may not have had the best plan (read – no plan) for this project, except that you’ve been thinking about it for a while, and really, 90% of your plans work out, in one way or another. (Eventually.)  Let’s say that had finished embroidering all your numbers on the thing, and let’s say that you ran out of red embroidery floss as you finished the 4 in 24, and that’s a pretty good place to run out if you’re making an advent calendar, which you are.

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Let’s also say that after you drew about nineteen really weird/wonky/crooked trees, you finally got one that’s just the right amount of whimsy, without being all Seussian, and let’s say that while you had a pretty hard time sewing it on, you remembered a thing or two about turning corners while you were doing that, and so you only swore like a sunburned sailor for about half of the time.  Let’s say too, that despite a few incidents with the reverse button – which let’s also say that you’ve discovered is in the least intuitive place that it could possibly be in, which (let’s just say) might have meant that the corners aren’t quite as tidy as they could have been, that you’ve managed to sew down the embroidered strips for the pockets, and got them turned into pockets, with a little more stitching, and really – that reverse thingie? You’re still mad about where it is. (Let’s say too that you’re not quite ready to release all your rage at the machine, because you know that it’s probably just 25 years of having a different machine with the reverse in a different spot that’s actually the problem.)

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Let’s say as well, that after consulting the internet, and your mum (who’s very, very handy with a sewing machine) that you figured out how to sew on 24 buttons with the machine so that it only took like… an hour instead of three, and let’s say that it could have been a lot faster too, if you could have figured out how to get the “feed dogs” down a little sooner, and if you didn’t have to look up how to get the *&^%$#@!!ing presser foot off, and if you had figured out that the tension was all wrong and was making those weird loops on the bottom before you’d done, like… ten buttons.

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Let’s say too, that you decided that only a fool would change the thread in the machine for one button, and you sewed that one on by hand.  (Let’s say that’s the yellow button, and let’s say that you decided that the top one should be yellow, purely for reasons of ornament.)

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Let’s say that all of that is true, and that you cut a piece of dowel to go through the top, and let’s say that it took you a while to find a handsaw and mitre box in the basement (because it was in an even less sensible place than the reverse button, and also there are spiders down there) and lets say that you sanded the wood, and got it through the casing at the top, and let’s say that right now it’s hanging in your living room where you can admire it.

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Wouldn’t you, let’s just say, be rather smug that it was all going so well, and completely willing to overlook that you only have 6 ornaments made, and it’s 9 days until deadline?

I’d say so.