This actually is a sequel to my previous article ‘Picasso’s Prodigy’. As I have graphically highlighted I’m not exactly good with handiwork, and almost all of my needlework for school was readied by my mom. As I was quite the nerd back in those days, being helped didn’t sit well with me at all.
When I was in fourth grade, the teacher demonstrated the complex art of a running stitch. It looked quite simple, so I thought enough was enough; I would do this one on my own, unassisted.
As soon as I got home, I went straight to my room and began working on my project.
After several hours, when I didn’t emerge from my room, my mom came to check up on me. The following is her rather exaggerated version of the scene.
Crossed legged on the floor, drenched in sweat, a sticky substance trickling down my arms, I was valiantly trying to glue the thread to the pointed end of the needle.
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