Ah suppose man, ah'm just too much ay a perfectionist, ken? It's likesay, if things go a bit dodgy, ah jist cannae be bothered, y'know? --Trainspotting
I thought I was going to finish the Frenchy bag tonight, but I have discovered why sewing's not such a good fit for me: it requires too much perfectionism.
I made pleats. They were such nice pleats. I made the handles. I wished again that I could sew a little straighter (and iron straighter). I sewed the handles to the bag, then I went to sew the top bit to the main bag panel. One fit. One needed a lot of "ease." The teacher was trying to get me to ease it, "that fabric has a lot of stretch," "it'll be fine." Then it occurred to me to measure both main bag panels. One was 11" and the other 11.5". Could the pleats be moved without repositioning the handles? No, handle location was measured from the pleats. So I had to take apart one half of the bag. Only when "ah jist cannae be bothered," it's not my perfectionism that's gotten in the way. It's what sewing demands that I cannae manage. (It's okay, my mil talks just like this. Just for proof: when the dude takes off his shirt, he glows; he's so pealy-wally. Shoogle the pot when you're making popcorn. If you stop and burn it, you might seem glakit. )