How could I refuse?

There I was in the wilds of Owaka on a sunny morning, doing a bit of hand washing in my pink bucket, when one of the other campers approached me.  This dark haired young man was a Swiss backpacker (with the most gorgeous dark eyes), and he had a problem.  It seemed that he had ripped the stitching along the zipper of his sleeping bag.  The wife of the camp owner had loaned him her sewing box, but he was at a loss to what to do next.  I had a look and saw what the problem was.  “Mmm”, I said, “this really needs to be repaired on a sewing machine, as there were several layers involved.  Perhaps when you move on you can find someone in a town who does repairs?” 

Can you help me?

“Can I do it myself with this?”, he asked, holding up a needle threaded with white cotton.  White thread on a black sleeping bag, that wouldn’t do at all.  Before I could stop the words coming out of my mouth I found myself offering to stitch it for him, using black thread, of course.  I explained that it was only a temporary repair, and he would still need to get it fixed properly.  He was such a nice young man, how could I refuse?  I must have reminded him of his granny back home, I think.

My good deed for the day

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