…after all, I have a seam ripper. I think I’ve said it before, but I love my seam ripper. Just when you royally screw up (today I sewed the wrong side of a blouse to the right side at the shoulders…ooh and I had already finished the seams too), the seam ripper calmly implies that you should make yourself an enormous pot of tea, and after you have greedily consumed it all assures you that it will be there for you as you painstakingly pick out each little irritating stitch. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t call you the moron that you feel like you are. And somehow when it’s done it’s work, you feel better. Thanks seam ripper. I needed that.