They say that, once you’ve successfully made bread, you feel like you can tackle absolutely anything, as you’ve shattered the glass ceiling of inaptness and have been launched into self-sufficiency. I have to agree, even though making a pizza (a pizza base I mean, not scattering sauce and cheese on top of a wrap) made me feel slightly more accomplished than a simple loaf ever did. Must have something to do with those guys that throw them in the air and catch them again. Not that I did that, but it is evident that, by the point I made my first base, I was flying high on the wings of imagination (or self-delusion, depending on how you feel about my skills as pizzaiola).
And now I’ve found something else. Sewing. I don’t mean sewing by hand (still impossible as far as I can see), but sewing with a machine, the same machine that stood quietly in a corner of my bedroom for over two years, silently reproaching me and my ineptitude, my lack of eye-hand prowess and mental stamina. Still, as I occasionally wrestled with it, sure that it was gonna go on eBay eventually (and it did at one point, but, luckily, it did not sell), I did so with the flame of hope burning inside, the same flame that illuminated countless fantasy silk jersey wrap dresses, laundry bags, lavender sachets, pillowcases, tea towels and aprons.
I’ve jumped the hurdle... the prototypes are coming thick and fast, I’ve even given one away to a squeaky response of approval and I am on a roll down and up, sideways, back and forth. I can now go forth and prosper!
