Lest you think that I am very gifted in the homemaker arts, let me tell you about embroidery. I got very jazzed a couple of years ago about all the darling stuff I could embroider. I even blogged about it here. Shortly thereafter I started embroidering a dish towel (or tea towel as they are sometimes oddly called. Why tea? Are you only allowed to mop up spilled tea with them? Or to dry tea cups? It’s an unsolved mystery, but “tea towel” is nicer than “dish towel”. But I digress.) Why, that was two years ago exactly.
I never finished my dish towel. I lost the pattern and I am not artistic enough to sketch what a bird’s nest should look like. So now I have a towel embroidered with a branch that has a big lump on it.
It turns out that I don’t like doing embroidery. It is really cute and I want so much to like it. But man, it’s boring. I don’t know why I don’t find it zen like knitting. Instead it just seems fussy and monotonous. I’m so glad I wasn’t born 200 years ago when that was all a lady was expected to do all day. I would have eventually gouged my eyes out with my needle. Or strangled myself with my embroidery hoop. (Whew! All the Halloween decorations have been making me rather morbid.)
Let’s just say that embroidery is one hobby that was a big fat fail. And I’m OK with that. But I still wish I liked it.