Here’s the thing: patching torn dungaree knees really isn’t rocket science. It’s not like you need a grade five education to not sew your hand to your project (I did that in grade nine, just for the record). Generally, you snip the tendrils away from the torn knee and then you put a patch on from the inside. Then you do a quick stitch around the outside of the patch. Then you do a quick zigzag stitch around the border of the patch. Then you turn the leg right-side-out and stitch over the hole itself, using the patch for structural integrity.
Unfortunately, the patch I made on The Captain’s torn dungarees looks like …well… you see the thing is…I followed all those steps. I even did so sober. Which is a big thing if you sew like I do. With a few belts under my …ummm….belt. So yeah, I followed all those steps. I even took pains not to sew the damned pantleg shut. I have Mad Skilz, I do. **Mad** Skilz.
So anyway, the patch looked like hell. I mean, it seriously looked like hell. I looked at the dungarees when I was finished and I thought, “Jeebus. These look like hell.” I showed them to His Nibs.
“Oh. Um. Those kind of…look like hell,” he said. He’s very supportive. But it’s starting to get weird that he knows *exactly* what I’m thinking. It’s like he’s implanted a tiny broadcasting device in my brain…probably dropped in through my ear while I was sleeping, and he has a receiver that he had surgically implanted last time he went to the dentist, because the only place you can really get micro-receivers implanted is either in your earrings (he has none) or in your fillings. And he can tune in to my thoughts with these tiny devices. All this time, I thought it was just all schmoopsy and being married and that kind of stuff. But no. It’s a tiny transmitter he put in my ear in my sleep. You think you know a guy….
Anyway, so the patch looks like hell. I figured what I’d do was…I’d go find a punk-rock patch…something in a skull and crossbones motif…possibly with a pirate eye patch or some such thing. I figured I’d get that patch and sew it *on top of* the patch I sewed on the inside that looks like hell.
This morning, The Captain came barrelling down the stairs. “Mum!” He cried. “You mended my pants!”
“I know!” I cried. “I cut off the bottoms and hemmed them!”
“Wait. What are *you* talking about?” I asked him. Because I *had* done that, after I’d had a drink…I’d hemmed his other pants. That turned out *much* better.
“My pants! With the hole in the knee! You mended them!”
“Oh, yeah. The patch kind of looks like…” But before I could say “Hell”, he shouted:
“THEY LOOK LIKE I’VE BEEN IN A KNIFE FIGHT!!! THAT IS SO AWESOME!!!”
Get your own knife-fight pants here.