Now that he's stopped laughing about the fact that I actually sew, my husband has decided he needs to find ways to utilize this new skill of mine. He asked me to patch up five holey pairs of jeans that he's been holding onto way past the time they should've gone to Jean Heaven. I decided to prove my love for him and patch these holes. Thing is, they're not holes in the knees or thighs or anywhere easy. Nooooooo, these holes are all right by major seams. The back pocket, the belt loops, the crotch. I had a special needle for denim, but my machine still kept getting hung up, making these awful, loud, "UNNNNNNNHHHHH!" noises. Then I'd get as close as I could without hitting the seam, which meant that I ended up only sewing over the patch in spots, and not attaching it to the jeans.
As I was sewing, wedging all that material under the needle and into the throat plate. I was muttering to myself, "Never again, never again, never again."
I patched one hole - badly. It took an hour-and-a-half, and it was about the size of a 50-cent piece. 90 minutes away from my fun quilting, torturing myself with this dang patch because my husband can't let go of a pair of jeans. Little gaps, Frankenstein-looking zig-zag stitches, all over the place.
I decided from now on, I'm going to stop feeding his psychosis. I'll prove my love by buying him a pair of new jeans instead. I'm a quilter, not a seamstress.