I hate to see someone get picked on. And when it’s my sewing machine, I feel compelled to defend it with the same zeal with which I rip out seams: Slowly, methodically, and with a burning hatred in my heart.
My poor sewing machine. She’s just a basic little thing, as plain as Jane and twice as homely. She’s old and cheap and she has bad habits . . . like if I don’t put the bobbin in just so she leaves a tangled mess of thread in her wake . . . And when trying to thread the needle, she squinches up the hole and releases an invisible fog of odorless gas that blurs my vision . . . And the pedal is so sensitive it goes from zero to sixty in the time it takes me to get my fingers out of the way. She doesn’t do anything fancy like automatically cut the thread or embroider in cursive celebratory wishes. In fact my sewing machine is kind of a douche, but she’s my douche and I would thank you not to bring up her inadequacies in front of me.
And I’m talking about you, people at the sewing machine maintenance places who have a wisecrack convention every time I take her in for regular maintenance. [Read more…] about Sewing Machine Self Esteem