It’s not you; it’s me.
Okay, I take that back. It is you. This just isn’t working out for me. I’m sure that you’re the perfect machine for somebody, maybe somebody who drinks a lot or talks to imaginary people, but you’re just not right for me.
I should have known from the beginning that you weren’t the kind of machine I should be with, but to be perfectly honest, I was going through a rough period in my life. I just couldn’t settle down. Knitting came with too many strings attached and painting was a big, dramatic mess. I had a brief flirtation with polymer clay, but it turns out that’s just not how I roll. And I’m not even going to talk about the time I tried to cross-stitch dirty words on a tea towel.
So I knew I should just back away from all the crafting, but then, well, there was this episode of Martha Stewart and, okay, I might have been a wee bit high from Mod Podge fumes, but by the end of the segment I knew that if I didn’t start quilting soon, I would just die. Before Martha could lure me into attempting to make pigs-in-blankets with homemade puff pastry and andouille sausage, I had my laptop fired up and was trolling home shopping sites for sewing machines.
I know now that I should have been more patient, that if I just held out a little longer, the right machine would have come along and swept me off my feet. But I was lonely and desperate and QVC offered you for 5 easy payments. Sure, there were only three customer reviews, but two of them were really good (“I’ve only had it out of the box for 15 minutes, but so far it looks great sitting on my table!”). Can you blame me for rushing in headlong?
And you did look great on my table. So sleek and shiny. Such pretty buttons and cute LED displays. I just loved to run my hands over your extension table and play with your tension control knob. I fantasized about how all the women I hadn’t yet met at the quilt guild I hadn’t yet joined would be so jealous when they saw you. And of course I knew that we would make beautiful quilts together.
Well. That didn’t happen, did it? I am still trying to untangle the latest snarl of fabric and thread that you have managed to jam under the needle plate. You have done nothing but skip stitches and break needles, and you have never once threaded your needle yourself, no matter how nicely I’ve asked. And that sleek, pretty chassis of yours already has a crack in it—though it’s from when I kicked you right in the bobbin case after the umpteenth time you “failed to perform” in the middle of a seam. Turns out it doesn’t happen to everybody—I checked.
And I know about the other quilters. Don’t try to deny it. I saw your Facebook page and I saw you change your status from “committed” to “looking.” AND I saw all those posts from Janine Carmichael about how you helped her “stuff” her “trapunto” when I loaned you to her Stitch-a-thon fundraiser. You’ve never stuffed my trapunto. And no, I don’t know what that means, and I don’t care, but I think I saw something about it in your manual somewhere. I’m pretty sure it was one of the features they were crowing about on QVC. Anyway, you have no business messing around in any body else’s trapunto. Especially Janine’s. I have a feeling her trapunto gets around, if you know what I mean.
You know, I could have gotten a Singer. A heavy-duty Singer. Oh, yes, it’s true. There’s one in the Vac & Sew shop where I keep having to take you in for repairs, and I know it wants to come home with me. The sales guy said so. Of course, I would never get involved with one of those big, metal-clad hunks. They’re all brawn and no brains, but it would be nice just once to know what it’s like to work a machine with a few more inches of throat space. That’s right, I went there.
So, I really think it’s time you and I went our separate ways. I’m sure if you put an ad on Craigslist, you’ll find someone who is willing to put up with your crap—I mean, appreciate all your special qualities. As for me, I’ve decided it’s time I started listening to my mother. She’s going to fix me up with a nice Viking.
P.S. Remember that walking foot I bought you? I want it back.