Today I decided to be productive and fix the little tear on my favorite sundress. I thought it would be simple — just a needle and thread, right? Wrong. So very wrong.
I was sitting cross-legged on my bed in my soft white camisole and tiny shorts, hair up in a messy bun, trying to focus. But threading that needle was impossible. The thread kept slipping right before it went through the eye. I’d get it close, then miss. Again. And again. My fingers were starting to tremble a little from concentrating so hard.
I kept leaning forward, squinting, biting my lip as I tried to line it up perfectly. Every time I thought I had it, the thread would brush against the side of the needle and slide off. I let out a frustrated little huff and tried again, slower this time, carefully guiding the thread with both hands. My breathing got a little shallower as I focused harder.
That’s when Mr. Thomas knocked on my open door. He’d come by to return the book I lent him last week. He saw me struggling and chuckled softly.
“Having trouble there, Amora?” he asked, stepping just inside the room.
I nodded, cheeks already warm. “It keeps missing the hole…”
He came closer and gently took the needle and thread from my hands. Standing behind me, he reached around and guided my fingers with his. His voice was low and patient as he said:
“You have to relax your grip a little. Don’t force it. Just ease the tip in slowly… feel for the opening… There you go. Slide it in nice and steady.”
I swear my face was burning. The thread finally slipped through perfectly on the first try with his help. He stepped back and smiled, telling me I was doing great and just needed a gentler touch next time.
After he left, I sat there holding the needle, staring at the perfectly threaded eye, feeling strangely warm and fluttery. I tried it again on my own and… missed. Three more times.
Why does something as simple as threading a needle make my stomach do little flips?
I’m going to pretend it was just frustration.
…Maybe I’ll practice again tomorrow.
Amora