Hot Pink Thread and Dog Fights

You know when is not a good time to learn how to use your new sewing machine? During that special time when you’re moody, emotional and irritable.

If you’re talking to my husband, that would describe Everyday Jen. So, my advice is to not talk to my husband.

But seriously.

I sat down and finally pulled my brand-new sewing machine out of its box, where it’s been since I unwrapped it Christmas Eve. I’ve been putting it off, because I knew it was going to be a serious task requiring my entire attention.

I knew this from experience.

A few years ago, I recruited my Mamaw Charlotte to teach me the basics of the sewing machine. She started with threading the needle.

“All you have to do,” she said, “is push it through here, pull it all the way down here, loop it here, pull it back through here – but make sure you’re holding on to it, because you’ll then need to pull it through here, here, here and push it through here. See?,” at which point she turned around to find me watching Larry King with Papaw Darrell.

Or something like that.

This time, it was just me and the seven-language manual.

I mean, who knew there were multiple translations for bobbin.

What the heck is a bobbin??

Whatever it is, I threaded it. With hot pink thread.

And then I pulled the hot pink thread here, here and through there. Pushed it through the eye of the needle. Held on to the two pieces, and pulled it through here, and then there.

Turns out Mamaw Charlotte was right.

After the 742 steps to thread the crazy thing, the manual told me I was ready to sew. But let me tell you something. The writer of that manual? A liar.

I couldn’t sew a straight line, no matter how steady I thought I was feeding the material through. My irritation level was reaching the bubbling stage, which is not ideal.

As I was contemplating crying, screaming or yanking out the material, wadding it up and throwing it across the room, Piper and Daysie got into a bit of a fight of their own, Daysie on the bed, of course, and Piper taunting her nearby.

I let them duke it out for a bit. I was busy trying to stay sane long enough to finish ‘sewing’ so I could watch The Bachelor.

After yelling over my shoulder for them to hush, stop it, and then to SERIOUSLY STOP IT, I turned around.

“GIRLS!” I said, more mad at the sewing machine than the Fur Balls.

“Yeah, Mom? What’s up? Nothing to see here.”

And as soon as I turned my back:

As I was getting ready to strangle two canines while smashing a Singer into a million little pieces, Evan walked in to see what I was up to.

He pointed at my masterpiece scrap material.

“You know, you have to make it sew a straight line. It doesn’t do it by itself.”

At which time I punched him in the face.

Have you ever found yourself halfway through a story when the sudden realization comes to you that, Wow, there is really no point to this, and that you should just stop?

Yeah.

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