|I tried hard not to use the words "trouser press"
||[Nov. 11th, 2009|02:30 pm]
I have an important meeting on Friday, for which purpose I recently bought some new trousers.|
However, these new trousers of mine were about three inches too long in the leg. Hmph.
This morning, I rooted around in the sewing machine cabinet's drawers, and found some of that cunning iron-on hemming webbing stuff. I unfolded the ironing board, and then paused.
A while ago, I chucked out both of my old irons, each of which had been broken by the stepson before he left home about two years ago. Yes, stop laughing at the back, it is more than two years since I did any ironing. So now I don't own an iron. And, looking at the ironing board, the cover is in a shocking state. And that webbing must be about thirty years old -- it belonged to Anne's mother.
So I went shopping, and came home armed with a new iron, a new ironing-board cover, and a new packet of that cunning iron-on hemming webbing stuff.
(Warning accompanying the new iron, the new steam iron -- "do not allow this unit to be exposed to moisture". Hmmm.)
We'll draw a kindly veil over the scene where I took the trousers up. Suffice it to say that, while I understand the principles, my skill in tailoring is substantially less than my skill in, for example, configuring mail servers.
But now, my trousers are about three inches shorter. And all the creases are in the right place. And both the legs are the same length as each other, which I understand is quite important amongst those who care about such things.
Phew. Now I'm going to go and have a lie down. I might put some stitches in later, to guard against the possibility that the cunning webbing might not hold in real-world situations.