Women that get to know me (as much as I allow that to be possible) often describe me as a “man’s-man”. I can fix anything, I build stuff, I drive a truck, have a deep voice, and strike an imposing figure with my smoldering good looks and chiseled jaw (OK, maybe not the last one).
Even so, I have a hard-time reconciling the moniker on days like today. Days where I hemmed two pairs of pants and patched some jeans. By myself. Using a sewing machine.
Using my sewing machine.