Present Tense, Past Perfect - A Stitch in Time

The year was 1997 and I was a far cry away from puberty. Art was a necessary evil seeing as how it comprised of fifteen percent of my final grade. Fifteen percent!! That was insane! Nonetheless I had to enrol in Art class if I wanted to move ahead with half decent grades. The school in all its wisdom offered two choices as far as "art"was concerned. One could either opt for metal embossing or move on to the more girly trade of cross stitching. Of course, I was planning to sign up for the manly trade of metal embossing. But by the time I got my lazy behind over to the workshop, all the places were taken. Which left me in the precarious situation of being the only student left to sign up. And it wasn’t like I even had much of a choice. It was cross stitching or nothing else! So I reluctantly, signed up for the aforementioned course. I proceeded with my head hung low to collect my material for the classes to follow. That’s when things really took a turn for the worse. All the nice designs like the vintage warplane and the classic automobile were already taken. Which left me with the flower and bird design. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I discovered much to my horror, that I was the only male to sign up for the stitching classes. If I had a building tall enough I might have jumped off it at that point. Fortunately for me, all our buildings were at just three storeys at the time. It didn’t seem worth the effort. So I jumped headfirst into the effort of creating a masterpiece. Stitching became my way of life. I spend hours trying to perfect my design. Hours which otherwise could have been spend playing basketball or trying to solve assorted Hardy boys mysteries. In the end, it all amounted to naught. I found out the hard way that girls are indeed much better at working a needle. My canvas ended up looking like a sheep threw up all over it. While all my friends showcased some of the best metal work I'd ever seen. I didn’t win any distinctions that year. I did however move on and vow never to try my hand at stitching again. Until my Trouser button popped off. But that’s another story for another day.