For the past year, my little Singer sewing machine has been sitting on the side of my dining room table. . . .ever at the ready, should I need to stitch up my BOM "mystery quilt block project" quilt blocks. The Singer has a vinyl cover over it, when not in use; which has saved it from pop spots, tomato sauce spots, Parmesan cheese sprinkles, taco sauce dribbles, cheddar cheese shreds, salt & pepper, and a variety of other indignities. It's sat there through breakfast, lunch and dinner. It doesn't eat much, has impeccable table manners, and only speaks when spoken too.
However, when it comes time to sew, that's another story entirely. My Singer turns into this Jekyl and Hyde character. Silent no longer, the quiet guest awakens and it whirls, jiggles, runs flat out at top speed, and the thread flies. Threads are everywhere; stuck to my hair, my clothes, the table top, the floor, the wall, to guests who happen by, and every nook and cranny that you can imagine. It eats every type, every color of fabric that I feed it and spits it out with stitches and strings attached. Manners are forgotten in the frenzy of attaching fabrics, one to another. As I finish the last stitch, in the last block of this month's assignment, my little Singer sighs, as I switch off it's light and unplug it's power cord. It sits and waits behind a curtain of plastic; safe from food spills, elegant in white vinyl, as it returns to its role as my frequent dinner guest.
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