In my ongoing quest to find my inner Martha, I acquired as a Christmas gift this year a nice entry-level sewing machine.
Here's
the problem. The only person I know who sews? My mother. I love her,
but her teaching me things tends to reduce me to a bratty teen. I
still don't like to think about what went down when she tried to teach
me to drive a stick shift. Un-pret-TAY.
I took a sewing class
a few years back, and have a couple nice, remedial-but-hip kind of
books that don’t assume you’ve been doing this stuff since home ec
(which I did not take). But being a blog addict, I needed more.
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