If you look at this, you will notice that one of these things is not like the others. One of these things is not quite the same.
I will admit, I had a feeling that something wasn't quite lining up as it should but I counted and looked and really couldn't see it until I started getting the darker colors stitched in.
And I had a tantrum. I flung invective and vitriol. I stomped around. I wove a tapestry of profanity (with thanks to Jean Shepherd and A Christmas Story for that image).
In short, I had a hissy fit.
The loony tunes part of my Inner Perfectionist declared that I must immediately take the scissors and cut the whole section out and restitch it. Now, not later.
The saner part of my Inner Perfectionist suggested that it might be wiser to wield a pair of scissors with sharp points when I had calmed down a little bit. Otherwise, I might also have to reweave a linen thread or more if I cut the fabric. So I went off and did other things for awhile.
Then I came back and looked at it. Hmmm, the sane part of my Inner Perfectionist said, I could just remove the rows on the left side, weave those ends in, and restitch only that section. It would make a bit of a lump if I didn't stagger the rows a little--well, actually there would still be something of a lump from weaving all those ends in, but this part will be on the bottom of the pincushion.
Wait a minute.
This part will be on the bottom of the pincushion.
And the pincushion is attached to the case.
So that no one will ever see the bottom of the pincushion.
I think I'm going to embrace my wild and crazy self and just leave it. Life is too short to worry about perfection.