I can’t sew. I can’t sew at all. I can’t even...

I can’t sew. I can’t sew at all. I can’t even sew on a button. I try. I carefully mark the place where the button needs to be sewn. I make sure I position the needle and thread and the button precisely on the marked spot. With great care, I slowly stitch the button in place. And then I feel depressed. The button is inevitably and always is at least half an inch from where it is supposed to be. Half an inch doesn’t sound much, but it is enough to cause a pucker or ruffle or bulge or gap in the article of clothing that the button is now attached to. I’ve given up even trying. I now ask the local tailor to sew on any loose buttons. It costs me $2 a button.
 
For someone who can’t sew, I am inexplicably attracted to all sewing accoutrements. The streets around the garment district of New York are some of my favorite streets in the city. I love the fabric stores and the trimming stores. I find them strangely relaxing. Pacific Trimmings on West 38th Street has the most wondrous range of zippers. Most people probably don’t think of zippers as beautiful. I do. And if you went to Pacific Trimmings, you would too. The zippers come in every conceivable color and size. Rainbows of  zippers hang from the walls. The store also has a huge range of trimmings, buttons, buckles, ribbons, and miles of gold chains, among other things. There are dazzling displays of sequined trimmings. Anyone who finds these sequined trims as alluring as I do must have a loud and flashy streak. At heart I must want to look like Liberace or a Las Vegas showgirl. I don’t usually buy anything. If I can’t sew on a button, I’d have no change of putting in a zipper. I just stroll through the store and marvel and dream.