"If you were at my table, I would have had to correct you far too often," quipped Annie.
"I am that bad?" I winked.
"Worse!" she added without a blink.
The provocation: My thread's knot was larger than a mustard seed. Or as Annie claimed, "The size of a grapefruit." She wasn't exaggerating as she snipped it off.
My thimble fits her finger perfectly. Though I never use it… It comes in handy when Annie sews our rips, tears, and buttons.
At fourteen Annie was a hat maker, 'La Modiste', by seventeen she was the head of a group of seamstress, sitting at the head of the table.
Annie told me that when she was seventeen her boss would take her out to lunch, afterwards they would walk around spying the new hat collections. "I would memorize the details of the new collections to recreate them back at the studio." She beamed with a renewed pride.
"I guess I would not be sitting at your table." I offered regretfully.
"No, but I am glad you are her now with your unused thimble." she winked.
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