It was Tuesday.
She hated Tuesdays. And Thursdays.
She hated being a girl.
Instead of inspiration, creativity and a skill, she had this.
Years of dashed hopes and failure.
Her friends knitted and sewed, chatting and laughing. She, cack handed, could never make the needles do what she wanted. God loves a trier though, and she tried. The others knitted scarves and trendy 70s handbags. The teacher, keen for her to achieve, called her tangly mess ‘a bookmark’, and the notglove had a button added and became ‘a purse’.
She still hates sewing elastic on dance shoes. Fail.