Over the holidays, my in laws were in town and I took a free moment to ask my Mother in Law to take a look at my sewing machine. The Singer and I have a love hate relationship. Actually, maybe more like a hate hate relationship. I’m one of those crafters who starts to get antsy towards the end of a project. If I could bottle up that excitement and disperse it into running marathons, I’d have more gold than Mr. T. Obviously that’s never going to happen. Like I’ve said before, “If you see me running, shits gone wrong.” True fact. I hate running so much that if a robber was chasing me, I’d just lay down on the sidewalk and be all, “Here, just take my damn bag. I’m tired.”
The back stitch was all jacked up and I couldn’t figure it out.
Okay, maybe a year.
MD had wanted me to sew this flower fabric onto a hoodie he had. Seemed simple enough. Until the machine started acting all crazy. I put the project on hold until I could locate a You Tube video to give me a hand (no luck). In between all that, we had a thunderstorm and the dog tore up all my fabric and pissed on the hoodie. Doomed from the start. My heart was slightly bruised because I hadn’t really sewn anything in years. Back when MD was a baby I’d whip up little blankets, pillows and was able to fix tiny things. I was well on my way to being a bad ass crafter. Then that machine broke and well, the years passed by before I got another one.
So my Mother in Law sits down at my machine, cuts it on and immediately says, “You have the bobbin in upside down and backwards.”
Well. That’s that with that then.
Fast forward a few weeks:
Machine is fixed and I’ve been spending the past few days on Pinterest adding pictures and websites of super cute shit to my boards. SUPER CUTE, people. Like, I know I’m going to sew a whole new wardrobe by Spring. It’s happening. Just as soon as I pick up some fabric. Which, once I got to the fabric store, I realized that maybe I should just make quilts. From scraps. Do you guys have any idea how expensive flannel is? $12.99 A YARD. Get outta here. That’s ridiculous. I can buy an entire set of flannel pajamas, that fit even, for $12.99. And don’t even get me started about nearly having to cut a lady for trying to get in front of me at the counter. “Oh I just, I’m number 76! I’m next!’ Really? Because I’m number SEVENTY FIVE and last I checked, we’re not in a parallel universe that goes in reverse. She wasn’t really happy when I waved my number at her. Suck it lady, the holidays are over and I’m not obligated to be nice anymore.
I decided I’d buy a few different flower patterned fabrics for that hoodie Miles was talking about (it’s his thing). Simple enough. Buy fabric, rework the pocket, make it look all cool and what not. I was able to get out of the fabric store for fairly cheap and was super excited to get home and make some sewing magic.
By 1:30 p.m., I was completely engrossed in my work. Stitches were coming together, pieces were fitting and I knew if Martha could see me, she’d pat me on the back while handing me a Manhattan.
Until I decided I needed to take a break because my back was killing me.
And I realized I’d sewn myself to my project.
Here, let me give you a visual:
That’s right. I had sewn so much of my left sleeve onto the hoodie, that I couldn’t really stand up. Once I figured out what the hell was going on, I had to lay my head down on my desk and laugh. Or as Clark Griswold said, ” If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn’t be more surprised than I am now.”
It took me TEN minutes to free myself. Mostly because I couldn’t get the sweatshirt out from under the foot of the machine and also because I’d left the scissors on the bed behind me. Which was out of arms reach. Which I only had one of. After ten minutes of having a moment to myself, I realized what I had to do.
I took my shirt off and stood, victorious, over my sewing machine in my bra and sweat pants. But not before I flipped off the Singer and went downstairs for a mental break.
And, in case you were wondering, I was able to finish the project and salvage my shirt.
LIKE A BOSS.