If you follow on me on twitter, which is totally okay if you don’t, because if you’re not on twitter, do not succumb like I did, because it’s a total time suck and is more addictive than crack–I assume, I’ve never tried crack–you might or might not know that I broke my sewing machine last night. Actually, you know what? I’m not taking the fall for this. I did not break my sewing machine. It just broke. Because it’s a piece of shit. And I feel like I can say that with some authority now, because I read a whole bunch of stuff on the internet posted by people who purchased the same crappy piece of crap that I did, and the same thing happened to their sewing machines. AND today Husband and I took it to a repair shop, which also happens to be a dealership for this particular brand of sewing machine, and the guy there, who sells these machines for a living, said they are a piece of crap. Or maybe he said they’re junk. Yeah, he probably said junk; that sounds more professional.
Anyhoo, he poked around in it and came to the same conclusion that I had as to what is wrong with it, and I felt totally vindicated that I am not a total idiot, and he also assured me that it was highly unlikely that it was anything I had done to cause the machine to break. They just break. Or maybe it wasn’t entirely broken, maybe it just needed an adjustment, but he couldn’t know for sure until he cracked it open, and that would be $85 just to start out, and more if it turned out needing a part and/or some intensive labor. And since I (well, technically, Husband) only paid $200 for the damn thing in the first damn place, $85 seemed a lot to invest in a piece of crap that was just going to turn around and break again.
He was a nice repairman. He even gave Husband some guidance on taking it apart himself (like I couldn’t do that? Nice, but maybe a little sexist) (although, now that I’m replaying in my head how it went down, Husband asked him if it just needed an adjustment if it wasn’t something he could do himself if he took it apart, and THEN the guy started telling him what to do, so maybe he’s not sexist after all). So now Husband is in the other room trying to fix my sewing machine. At first I was in there helping, but he told me he had envisioned this being a project he took on solo, and then he could be the hero, and I could tweet or blog or whatever about him being an Awesome Guy instead of a car murderer and a bathroom polluter. So I’ve been lounging on the bed reading blogs for the past 45 minutes while he’s tried to pry open my sewing machine.
So he just called me in there to try to use the machine again. He thought he might have it fixed, and it looks like he has indeed fixed the thing that was the broken thing in the first place, but in doing so he somehow has maybe broken something else. Because before he took it apart, the problem was the feed dog wouldn’t stay raised, which if you’ve ever operated a sewing machine you know is the toothy part that’s under the presser foot that pulls the fabric through the machine as you sew. And if you’ve never operated a sewing machine, now you know what a feed dog is, but that still won’t mean anything to you if you don’t know what a presser foot is, I guess. But before he fixed the feed dog, the take-up arm was moving up and down as it is supposed to, and now that Husband “fixed” my sewing machine, it. . . doesn’t. It doesn’t move at all, in fact. The machine just makes this pointless whirring noise and no magical sewing action occurs.
Now Husband is trying to fix that. He was hopeful that he would accomplish that in the time that it took for me to write this post, but either I am a very fast blogger (which we all know I am not), he is a very slow fixer (possible), or the machine is more broken than ever before (most likely).
Bahaha. Husband just came in here with this endearingly perplexed look on his face and asked, “Is there maybe some switch that got switched off or something when something, something?” I wasn’t really paying that close attention because I was laughing (on the inside, not on the outside, that might have hurt his feelings when he was being so serious and earnest and shit) so hard because NO, there’s no switch or something, something, he fucking BROKE IT SOME MORE. But I’m not even upset about it, because he tried, and he really is an Awesome Guy, even if he is a car killer and bathroom polluter. I don’t see why those things have to be mutually exclusive.