Fingers crossed sewing badge is on scouting list

One recent Sunday, I was not relishing the prospect of tackling a sewing task that was clamouring for my attention.
My young son, who had been trialling a move from Cubs to Scouts, was finally ready to progress, and was due to attend his outgoing Cubs meet followed by his first proper Scouts meet within days.
The change brought with it an escalation in uniform: gone would be the pleasant but fairly informal Cubs polo shirt and jumper; in would come the smart blue shirt, shiny buckled-belt, and white cap sported by the Scouts, alongside the black trousers and shoes that were features common to both groups.
Following suggestions given by leaders, we had managed to procure a shirt second-hand, ascertaining in advance of purchase that the badges visible in photos - some of which were badges unique to the branch, a different location to my son's - were fastened with thread rather than glue, and should therefore be easy to remove.
Noting the careful placement and neat stitching employed in the application of the existing adornments once we had bought it, I was somewhat disappointed that we would, in fact, be unable to leave them in situ; they were undeniably attached with far superior skill than I could hope to apply.
Needs must, however - my son had emerged from his final trial session clutching a fistful of new badges and had photographic evidence of where to place them before the following week. It was then that I remembered a nifty little tool that my mum had always had to hand on such occasions.
We called it the 'quick-unpick' - whether through knowledge or whimsy I can no longer be sure - and it has facilitated many a de-stitching task over the years. It's a small device, opaque cream in colour, and resembles, when closed, a miniature capped pen, the sort that would accompany a pocket notebook.
The outward appearance is unremarkable; when uncapped, however, the tool's usefulness reveals itself: it is a hook, with a fine upper point, whose curved inner edge comprises a small, sharp blade, the whole instrument perfectly proportioned to cut through the tiniest of stitches.
Although delighted with my brainwave, I was momentarily nonplussed; I could not remember the last time I had set eyes upon it, and feared that it may have been permanently mislaid. Popping to my dad's house, I hopefully seized my mum's wooden sewing box, lifting each handle and scouring the concertinaed compartments concealed within.
My search proved fruitless, and I ruefully acknowledged that I had probably purloined it upon some previous, forgotten occasion, and had neglected to return it (I have form). Returning home with hope fading, I yanked a chair over to the tall cupboard in my kitchen, hoisting items of varying degrees of usefulness from the lofty heights and praying that I didn't unleash an avalanche upon my head.
I eventually located the container I was seeking - a small cardboard box, once filled with haberdashery implements - and prised the stiff drawers open with my nails, the frontages long since having lost the ribbons that graced them when the box was new. The first drawer yielded no joy, but in the second, to my relief, I glimpsed the quick-unpick: a vision of simple loveliness. I snatched it up, and bore it triumphantly aloft to my young son, who gazed at the gadget - and me - quizzically. I instructed him to remove the lid, which he duly did, but looked none the wiser.
When I described its use, however, his eyes lit up, and he immediately voiced a wish to try it out himself; I promised he could have a go at the weekend. We sat down together that Sunday afternoon, and applied ourselves diligently to the task, me holding in turn the new Scout shirt and his old Cubs jumper, for the removal and transference of ongoing badges, and my son wielding the tool with greater enthusiasm than expertise.
Thankfully, no persons (or clothes) were harmed in the exercise, and when my son had severed the last thread, I was left with a small heap of badges to fasten to the shirt. Well, as my school Home Economics teachers would undoubtedly testify, I am no seamstress; three times before the day was out, I was forced to seize the quick-unpick and quickly unpick a badge I had so poorly sewn.
I was bent over the work for nigh on two hours - two hours! - before I declared myself (mostly) satisfied with the final effect. It was then that my son cheerfully reminded me that I still needed to sew several new badges onto his Cubs jumper; despite graduating to Scouts, he was due to attend a Cubs residential in two weeks' time, with all accolades present and correct. Is it too much to hope that he'll have achieved his sewing badge by then?