It was obvious they were dying to know what I planned to wear, but I didn’t offer any information, and they were too polite to press me for details
“Y
ou want to learn to what?” asked my husband of several months, looking at me as if I’d just informed him that I intended to swap my standard brown wig for a short, curly, blonde one.
“To sew,” I calmly replied.
“Sewing is for grandmothers, or people who work at the cleaners. Not for a regular girl who was class valedictorian, went to the right camps and top seminary, and is well on her way to getting her degree!”
I guess it was good my creative interests had never come up as a topic of conversation on any of our dates. I’d always wanted to learn to sew and I intended to learn.
Despite Ari’s strong feeling that sewing was a domestic art better left in the last century, he finally came around. I found a used sewing machine and enrolled in a sewing class.
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