It was stiflin' hot when I showed up at the weekly youth activity prepared to teach a dozen young girls to sew pioneer bonnets. I entered the room to find another sewer, many years my senior, brandishing a half dozen sewing machines and some serious sewing pride. I sensed right away there was goin' to be trouble.
She seemed a little taken back that I was there, with my 2002 Viking and well-equipped sewing tackle box and seemingly tried to establish some kind of territorial boundaries. The tension was thick and within a minute and a half she had thrown at me a list of her sewing credentials including sewing two of her daughters' wedding gowns by phone! Across the country! And they fit perfectly!
What did I lash back at her? Nothin' other than my killer charm, a really awesome seam-ripper, and a bachelor's degree proving four years of serious sewing studies.
She tried again later to establish dominant sewing skills in the form of rudimentary lessons in pattern literature. I whipped back with a thread-by-thread definition of woven fabrics. The crowd oooed and ahhed at my expert terminology.
At the end of the night, I successfully aided in the construction of seven handmade pioneer bonnets. Let it be known that I totally owned that makeshift sewing room... if I do say so myself.