"Ow, owwww." I whipped back my hand yet again. Steam is hot. This steam suddenly whooshes out of the iron and gushes upward towards my hand. Like Henry and the elephant.
Sewing is really two skills. The skill of keeping the machine steady and going in a straight line and the skill of pressing. Pressing is the real key. Clean, crisp seams make all the difference. So once again, I lowered the iron on the fold, determined to get the line of sewing on the edge of the fold. Sewing is strangely precise, a 1/16" out in either direction and you notice it. No one else will, but you will. And forevermore, when you wear the garment, you'll see the mistake.
For the first time, I got to use my clapper. This was rather a let down. Rather than clap the fabric with all the force you can muster, you just press down and slowly drag the clapper down the seam. Between my fire-breathing iron and my clapper, my fabric was soon making folds similar to a piece of paper folded with a nail. This is nerve wracking. If you get the line wrong, you can't get the fold back out.
I soon discovered that shirt making is a one shot deal. The needle pierces the fabric so that ripping out the stitching and redoing it is not an option - the fabric is already punctured and will show the old line. However, cotton is not slippery, so I have been able to dispense with pins. I am trying to avoid using pins as they too mark the fabric.
I had run out of fabric so I bought more tonight. This was fine until I realised that it too had to be washed. Currently, I am stalled until the fabric dries and I can cut out the new pieces. I'm left wondering why yet again I am doing laundry at ridiculous times of the night.
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