I gave up on pestering Mother after I’d made her sufficiently mad. The 4-H apron project folder lay forlornly on my messy dresser. One Monday the teacher reminded us Thursday was 4-H day. Don’t forget our projects. She added 4-H was not just an excuse to get out of class. We’d better show up with our finished project. I assumed my grade would be affected, always a troubling situation. I went wailing to Mother when I got home.

Disgruntled at another burden heaped on her shoulders, she looked at the folder I waved in her face. “I don’t have time now. You don’t have to have it till Thursday.” So, Wednesday after supper, Mother finally looked through her stash of fabric. Alas, she chose an exceedingly ugly brown bit of fabric unlikely to be of use for anything else. She hastily scanned the project folder to see my project called for a yard and a half. “This is pretty close. It should do.”

Naturally, I hated the ugly print. “This doesn’t look the one the leader showed us!” I protested.

“It’s fine.” she said, anxious to be done with the project. “The apron doesn’t have to look exactly like the picture.” Truer words were never spoken. The tacky mess I had to offer at the 4-H meeting was a pitiful example of sewing.

The agent had nothing good to say about it as she had us label our projects for entry at the fair. I hadn’t even thought to iron mine. It was definitely the red-headed stepchild of the lot. Clearly, some of the other girls, or their mothers, had followed the instructions to the letter, producing lovely aprons. That satisfied my yen for sewing until I took home economics.