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Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Super Me vs Evil Sewing Machine

In a world where Evil lives in a machine, only one girl can thwart it.
Well - it isn't me.

I tried.
Last week - before my holiday, Super Husband bought some shelves so I could organise my sewing mess. It is brilliant. I have bags and baskets and boxes and by jingoes it is all neat and tidy.
'Why don't I bring out the sewing machine and make a home for it?!' I thought.
My memory it seems is a short one. I had visions of sewing clothes and cushions and drapes and even a dapper smoking jacket for my cat if I felt so inclined. I could sew the world - nay, the Universe.

I cut up a dress that needed altering. I cut out material for cutsie pie pillow covers. I imagined sunny afternoons sewing covers for everything and shopping for materials I could wear. So I sat down and against my usual inclinations to just turn it on and figure it out as I go, I took out the manual.

I read how thread goes through arm A, spools past 7 into 23b up and around Y and lastly loops through BX5.
I read how the tension must be no greater than the axis of the planet spinning through Gemini on a leap year. I adjusted accordingly the foot direction to match that of the ancient Incan burial rites during the reign of Xicconiqu.
Gingerly I pressed the foot pedal. the needle went down, the needle came up with no thread on it.

'That's ok,' I said to myself. 'I must have not divided the Sanskrit by Pythagoras' theorem. I'll try again'.
Thread through A...blah blah BX5 ok.
I got out the iron. I hate the iron also. I made flat hems while the iron deposited white crud all over my material. Undeterred however I pressed on (haha, ironing joke).
Back to sewing machine, I pressed the foot pedal. The needle went down, the needle came up. the needle went   down, the needle got stuck. Ok, that's ok. I'll just reverse. The needle went up, the needle went down, the material bunched up.
After I had wrenched my material out and un-picked the mess it had made, I tried again. Reread the mathematical theories of sewing machineness again.

Lets just skip to the part where I start singing the "i'm going to throw you in the bin, put dog turds on top and then set fire to you" song. It went rather well.
The sewing machine, I have decided, is cursed. Probably because I cursed it - alot.

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