Our own little sweatshop
/While I was mowing the lawn, my wife made a skirt for my daughter.
A skirt.
Sure, it takes a long time to write a novel, and it requires a modicum of creativity and skill.
But she made a skirt.
Just whipped it out like it was nothing. Then she made two more.
And another as a gift.
I don’t know why we ever need to buy clothing again.