The human female is always nattering about how she must have just the right needle for the job but can never find one. To hear her tell it, whichever one she puts her hand to is always too long or too short or too sharp or not sharp enough or it needs to be curved or it needs to be straighter. Blah, blah, blah, whine, blah, blah. Don’t get me started on the whole eye-size litany either. There must be needles for quilting, needles for hand-sewing, needles for embroidery, and needles for fixing soft toys. (I think she is making things up.) Suffice it to say she is beyond picky.
You’d think she’d take proper care of the ones she *does* have, but no. She leaves them everywhere! In the arm of the sofa, thrust into spools of thread, stuck in her collar. This morning I found one on the kitchen floor!
She owns a pincushion and does manage to get the pins and needles there once in a while.
It’s a funny thing, You can jam the pins down in and their heads keep them from disappearing. The needles, though… A person can just shove them right down into the sawdusty interior from whence they never return… Whoops! There goes another one!