Oh my dear, dear sewing machine. We’ve come through many trials together, haven’t we? Many hills, many vales. Many miles of thread were lockstitched by your needle and bobbin. Many were the times that I swore and wept, but always, always you sewed on dilligently, with constancy and patience.
Well … almost. You had a nasty habit of locking up and refusing to move either forward or backward after running for an hour or so. And there was a time last year when you refused to produce anything but a noxious smell and a buzzing noise.
But I had faith. Until this afternoon, when you quit entirely. The thing that holds the bobbin in place (technical term) is FALLING OUT.
DO YOU SEE THAT SHIRT? THAT IS THE SHIRT THAT I WOULD HAVE HAD FINISHED IF YOU HAD GONE YOUR NORMAL HOUR.
But it doesn’t matter.
I have zen-like calm.
I have tenacity. I have courage. I have faith.
I have a roommate with a sewing machine of hir own.