I wore a lovely red jumper to work today that I bought on sale a couple of months ago.
A male colleague asked me if I’d knitted it, which made me laugh immoderately, much to his dismay. He didn’t mean it unkindly, but I’m choosing to be offended anyway. I suppose he wasn’t to know my lack of deediness is a source of chagrin for me. My mother could do all sorts of traditionally feminine crafts: knitting, crocheting, sewing – I think she even knew how to darn socks. I guess she was born in the Great Depression which would have made these vital skills, not just fun hobbies. I’m not sure why she never taught them to me, or should I say, why I never learnt them. What was I doing instead? Wasting my time watching telly I expect. It means I’m in no position to pass on any of these skills to my offspring of course, which I feel a bit guilty about. Nonetheless, one of them is reasonably keen on sewing, and another actually enjoys embroidery. Maybe it’s going to be one of those traits, like male pattern baldness, that’s going to skip a generation.
