|Brutus, in the... err... flesh.|
As I finished work at 9am yesterday I was motivated early to get lots of sewing done. Yay! I happily envisaged hours and hours behind the machine working away to my heart's content. The house was empty, dinner plans had been made and no housework desperately needed to be done. Bliss!
Firstly, I finished my Dad's apron (photos to come). Then I moved onto a project for Mr Missy Mac (oh how he will just love that name) which was just about finished when disaster struck.
*** play scary music now ***
In the final few stitches my needle broke. No great disaster, it happens. But then, just for fun, it fell down into my machine. Oh shit. Now I'm not a mechanical person. I'm more the kind of gal who is just happy that things go so the thought of having to use a screwdriver and open up my machine wasn't very appealing. But neither was paying $$$ for someone to do for me. Not surprisingly my stinginess prevailed and out came the screws. Wow... look at all the bits and pieces and thingymebobs inside. Ooo. Preeeeetty.
This is about where I started to make mistakes. I tend to be a little rough and heavy handed when things... excuse me... piss me off. And, by this point, I was pretty grumpy. So I yanked and tugged and poked and prodded, all the while swearing at my machine.
Brutus (he has since been named and we are still not on speaking terms) then got the last laugh. During the struggle I somehow managed to pull a muscle in my back. Ouch! Consequently, sewing ceased and the dinner plans (which had already been paid for and were non-refundable) were cancelled. I instead spent the evening laying on the loungeroom floor in pain.
Erin 0, Brutus 1.
The moral of the story? I am really not a mechanical person so next time, no matter what the situation, I'm going to happily fork out my hard-earned cash to a