I sew things. It is superty fun for me. Except lately, I haven't been sewing things because I have sewing machines that don't work. Yes, machines. What? You have, umm, two, uh, coffee mugs, right?
Don't listen to me. I don't know what I'm talking about.
I took my plural machines to the fancy-pants sewing center to get them repaired and tuned up. AND THEY LAUGHED AT ME. Because my plural machines are just that crappy, that's why.
But then, the Owner Herself, the Sewing Machine Madame, took me by the hand and walked me over to the Gallery of Sewing Machine P*rn and showed me things I had never seen before and excited me in a way that I did not know was possible. I tried to work the poker face. I tried hard to look Totally Bored and Not At All Impressed In Any Way.
And then I put a deposit down on Sewing Machine P*rn of my very own. It could also have been considered a deposit on repairs for my plural
pieces of crap machines. Either way. Just in case. Ahem.
Because my plural
pieces of crap machines are not yet repaired (and believe me, I'm using the term 'machines' VERY LOOSELY here), I borrowed some R-Rated Sewing Machine P*rn from someone who trusts me with their P*rn collection.
And I broke the needle-threader-thingy in five minutes. Because I'm COMPLETELY AWESOME.
But tonight, I took awesome to a wholenother level.
I shattered a needle. Don't ask me how, I'm just so awesome I can't even describe it. Except to tell you that one piece of the needle was planted firmly between my front bottom teeth, and another piece was embedded in my tongue. As in NEEDED TWEEZERS TO YANK IT OUT. And for extra beauty? I think I swallowed a piece.
Hi, I'm Pamela, and I have a sewing machine problem.