Years ago, my grandmother was a house parent at an extremely snooty private school for girls in Massachusetts. And one day, while she was tidying up, she found an extremely large trash bag in the closet of one of the girls' rooms.
When she opened up the bag, she found tons of clothes that had been worn once, sustained some minor injury - a lost button, a ripped hem - and then tossed away. The girl, when confronted, confessed somewhat shamefacedly that she had never learned to do any basic clothing repairs.
Worse yet, when my grandmother told the story to me, her decidedly non-rich twelve-year-old granddaughter, I had to admit that I didn't know much about sewing on buttons either. That, as you can imagine, was rectified quite quickly.
When she opened up the bag, she found tons of clothes that had been worn once, sustained some minor injury - a lost button, a ripped hem - and then tossed away. The girl, when confronted, confessed somewhat shamefacedly that she had never learned to do any basic clothing repairs.
Worse yet, when my grandmother told the story to me, her decidedly non-rich twelve-year-old granddaughter, I had to admit that I didn't know much about sewing on buttons either. That, as you can imagine, was rectified quite quickly.
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