Carol’s Column

A stitch in time can save a gusset

I GRADUATED on Monday night. What an occasion.

Oh, not with any old degree or doctorate. Indeed, no. I became a fully certified Knitwit. An achievement indeed.

In dignified surroundings and suitably attired, along with the other graduates, I received my certificate which I've already sent to be framed in gilt-leafed moulding with non-reflective glass.

To be honest, I'd never really thought of becoming a Knitwit, it was destiny.

It happened like this.

"Ma, please can you help me finish my sewing? It has to be in tomorrow," said my teenage daughter some time towards the end of last year.

"Sure," I said magnanimously. After all, what are mothers for?

When she unpacked "the sewing" it turned out to be an uncompleted blouse. So uncompleted that the only progress made had been to cut out the separate pieces.

The battle of the blouse was memorable as never before had I attacked a sleeve, an armhole or a yoke. She took her blouse to school and we got 78 percent. Eight percent for sewing, 70 percent for effort.

It was then that my good friend Betty said: "Why don't you go and do a Knitwit course? They guarantee to teach any idiot to sew."

Which is why I found myself sitting with 24 aspiring seamstresses being told that at the end of our eight-lecture course we would be accomplished Knitwits. We would be able to produce an entire wardrobe from stretch fabrics. "Knitwits never shop for clothes. They make everything," said our mentor.

"So what are you making? A drainpipe?" asked my husband as he watched me stretching a piece of material from one end of the diningroom table to the other.

"This is a sleeve through which I shall cunningly pull the bodice in order to line up the seams which have been quartered," I replied. It hadn't taken me long to pick up the jargon.

My husband was suitably impressed.

My first creation, a cowl-neck, long-sleeved dress was a great success. We wore it to the movies, three of us together, and, with a little bit of a squeeze, Marion could have fitted in too.

Each week, we'd bring our garments along for aid and criticism from Jenny, our mother Knitwit.

We were all ambitious. Rosie made her husband the most exotic gold lurex sweatshirt and I attempted a turquoise and canary track suit for my spouse.

He was thrilled when I gave it to him and immediately rushed upstairs to try it on. He came down 10 minutes later, walking slowly. Very slowly.

"I think there's something wrong," he muttered as he hobbled towards me.

"Wrong? What do you mean there's something wrong?"

"Well, did you mean to sew up the bottom of the legs?" he asked.

"Definitely. It's so that you can keep your feet warm," I answered immediately. One has to think quickly in a crisis.

"It's really a little cumbersome having to walk like this," said my husband. "Besides, I can't get my shoes on."

Some people are never satisfied.

In the following weeks we learnt to measure crotches, iron hips and cover shoulder pads.

"Cover shoulder pads? The country's falling apart and you want to cover shoulder pads?" my good friend Betty said as she watched me perfecting a pad.

But it was our last lesson that was the final culmination of every sewer's dream.

We learnt to make underwear. French knickers, bikini panties, bloomers, lace tangas — the list was endless.

"Making panties is therapeutic," said Jenny as she deftly sandwiched a gusset. "If you've had a fight with your husband or kids, lock yourself in a room and make a pair of panties."

And then came the finale. The graduation ceremony. A glorious affair with champagne and orange juice, we paraded in the garments that most satisfied our individual souls.

We all looked stunning, I thought.

Eat your heart out Pierre Cardin.

I couldn't wait to get home with my graduation certificate.

"You can all congratulate me," I said to my happy little family as they sat watching TV. No one moved.

"I am now a fully qualified Knitwit," I announced loudly.

"So what's new?" said Jamie.

For the past three days I have been locked in a room and I am now on my 394th pair of bikini panties.

With lace.

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