What Aspect of Sewing Fills YOU With Dread??!!

I was talking with my friend Rain a couple days ago and she asked me that question. Without ANY hesitation, I said, "Mending." And then I further clarified, "JEANS." She couldn't understand so I had to explain to her the grueling process of trying to mend the jeans of a teen aged girl.

The jeans are brought to you, waving hysterically in the air. MMMOOOOOMMMMM, can you mend these? They have a hole in the back. So I take the jeans turn them over, around, upside down, and inside out. And I finally find the hole. The teeny weeny infitesimally small hole which is unacceptable because Heaven Forbid anyone would see the color of their panties for the day. Which they only could see if their face was an inch away from the hole and they had a magnifying glass. Although what someone is doing that near to my daughter's bottom would Require An Explanation.

But, I lovingly proceed. I find the patching denim. I pin it on. I tape it, too, just in case. I armwrestle the jeans onto the free-arm of my little machine. I begin. The jeans have to be turned three times. After an hour and a half, I've sewn at least three fingers together, my eyes are bloodshot from squinting trying to find the minuscule hole, and my mouth is dry from biting my lip concentrating. I manhandle the jeans off the machine and take them to my treasure. She examines them and hands them back to me, a lone tear dripping down her cheek. She says there's a wrinkle in the patch. HUH????

So I go back to the machine, which now seems to have fangs and an evil laugh. I base my foot against the dining room table for leverage, haul the jeans onto the machine, and begin again. By this time, my face is red and I have invented words that would make God blush. I've sewn at least two more fingers together. My feet are practically waving in the air as I keep my nose dangerously close to the needle and carefully sew out the wrinkle that I never *did* see in the patch I could *hardly* see over the hole that it took me five minutes to find in the first place.

Finally, after another three hours, I finish. Triumphantly, I turn the jeans right side out, shake them out with a good, satisfyingly hard smack, and, brandishing them with victory, take them to my daughter, my darling, my delight.

As I retreat down the hall, I hear a piercing shriek of anguish. MMMOOOMMMM!!! WHAT?? I've put on half a pound in the last five hours and now the jeans don't fit!!!!

Go Figure.

And THAT, dear readers, is why I HATE mending jeans.

What is YOUR Least Favorite sewing chore??!! (Very Big Grin!!!)