A Firm Grip on the Threads

Hello there. It is awfully quiet tonight, isn't it? I gently rotated my golden wrist, and—oh! It actually moved! But when I tried to push myself up against this textured grey cloth, my hand slipped completely off the weave. Ugh, seriously?! Work with me, fabric! Why must you slide like that?! ...Pardon me, that was quite rude of me. I took a steady breath, tucked my yellow clip-hand into the groove of the coarse threads, and gave a gentle, anchored pull. There. Perfectly steady right here.