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Once upon a time, I had a sewing machine. And it didn’t work very well. So I bought another one, and it worked okay, but never as good as it should.

So I didn’t sew a lot, because it just seemed too much trouble to deal with all that messiness of jammed up thread, stalling, badly wound bobbins, and broken needles.

But then, as I was sewing one day, and cussing out the machine, the Contrarian, never a slouch when it comes to making sure the little woman has all her tools of housekeeping going strong, suggested I just get a new machine.

And I said no. And I said, I don’ sew enough to bother, and I said, maybe, and then I started to read stuff on the Internets, sliding through the tubes of information trying to make sense of it all. And I heard about this thing called refurbished machines which allow you to buy a much better machine at a lower cost, and that they were really really fixed up and looked brand new, and in some cases were just that brand new, but sent back because Missy didn’t like the color.


I settled on a Janome or something like that, and ordered it from Overstock and read all the nice reviews by other buyers about how much then loved it, even over more pricier models. And I got it.

And the needle was bent, so I fixed that. And then I tried to wind the bobbin and the motor sounded like it was chopping glass in there. And I fiddled and I fidgeted and I said a few swear words (I know, not like me at all). And I smiled, and I said, “why gosh, this machine seems to be broken. Chit happens.” I called the customer service and they sent me a shipping label and we repacked that baby and carried it to our UPS carrier which was really convenient and the guy smiled real nice, and said everything was fine and off that broken thing went.

Three days later, I got an e-mail that they had it, and I was given a $20 credit for “my time and inconvenience” toward another purchase.

So I studied harder, and longer and settled on a Brother machine that was more expensive, but hey I had that $20 extra dollars. So after much thought and process, I ordered it.

And it too came in only four days. And it looked all bright and shiny. And then I raised the needle and it too was bent. So I fixed that. And I read the manual and I watched the nice video they provided. And I followed the diagram on top, and they all agreed, this was a snap, and it was not so very different from winding the bobbin on most machines, just a wee bit easier.

And so I did it, and I turned on the machine. And the light came on. And the machine whirred. And the SPINDLE DID NOT MOVE!

So I did it again. And again. And again. Then the Contrarian came in and picked up the manual and started reading, and poking and asking man-questions. And nothing worked. And when I pushed the “needle placement” button, the error message showed that the thread was jammed but there wasn’t any thread in the darn sucker.

So I got on-line with Brother’s support. And they said basically they didn’t give a chit about my problem because it was a refurbished machine, but it sounded broke to them.

So I called customer service from Overstock and said, “I got another broken machine, so send me a shipping label,” and they did, and they said they are sending me a replacement machine toot-sweet, and I feel rather unsure about all that cuz I figure I got only one strike left, and I’m not sure I wanna waste it on a two-time loser.

So there, Mr. Hansi, pitcher drawer, I had a worse day than your silly painting episode.

And there is more.

Then I turn on the TV and watch the debate and Mr. Willard was great and MY PRESIDENT SUCKED. And I am really now in a bad mood, and yelled at the dog, and bit the Contrarian (not really but I sure wanted to, cuz everybody knows that there is nothing worse when you are in a bad mood than somebody who tries to cheer you up for criminy sakes.)

And with that I went to bed and didn’t sleep good at all.

So there Mr. Hansi. I win.

Cuz I gotta win something since the dang President seems intent on giving away his Oval Office to a cheap imitation of a human being.

Damn Day.