9 Mar

The tournament judge flicked lean fingers over the edge of my bib’s lame attachment. Knew I was in trouble the moment his disapproving eyes met mine.

“It’s not attached all the way.” Um, OK. “A tip could get into the gap.” Heavens!! The judge called over another official, showed her the offending gap. Shaking her head, she informed me that I couldn’t compete with that mask.

Really? “Well there is something you can do,” she continued, turning behind her quickly, opening a silver case behind her, and a moment later retrieving — before my disbelieving eyes — a thin sewing needle, and a small spool of white thread.

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