Rage against the machine...

Everyone is scared, or at least wary, of some thing. Some people are terrified of snakes or spiders, of going outside, of catching a cold or even of other people. I´m scared of sharks yet find them fascinating at the same time because they are so swift, deadly and skillful. I find myself watching documentaries about them and want to see pictures of them and what their stomachs might contain; an oxygen mask of a recently devoured diver perhaps, or even a limb from the same source. It´s gruesome I know, but it´s still interesting to me to know more about them. They are like a finely tuned machine; precise, streamlined and unbreakable.


I bring all of this up to compare my morbid fascination of sharks as a hunter and frightening animal to that of the scariest machine of all - the sewing machine. Invented in 1790, this terrifying piece of equipment was designed to make life easier for the seamstress and possibly the prison guard as it is a perfect devise for torture. 


This may sound ridiculous to you, but I happen to know that sewing machines can smell fear. It´s true. My Mother would sit at her sewing machine quite happily for hours, busying herself away with mending of clothes and making quaint fabrics to delight her household with. She didn´t seem worried at all. And why would she seem anything else then perfectly content - the machine never attacked or refused to work when she went near it.


How I wish I could say the same. Even at first glance, I could see that the sewing machine and I would never be friends. It seemed to double in size as I approached it - even from a distance of two meters. If I sat down and tried to make the smallest of hems on an old pair of trousers, the machine would spring to life at the slightest whisper of my foot near the pedal, and would increase speed for no reason as it aimed for my fingers, desperate to make them one with the fabric forever. 


I have some clothes that need repairing as we speak, and so, naturally, I have avoided the torture instrument that is the sewing machine entirely. However, this makes progress slow as everybody knows that sewing by hand is as dull as reading an instruction manual for a new phone. There is no choice for people like me who are inflicted with primal fear of these hazardous inventions. 


My conclusion is this: A stitch in time saves nine. Doing it properly the first time is clearly the best option. Who would want to ruin perfectly good material by poking holes in it with a 9 inch death needle anyway? No, I´m sticking to hand sewing as it´s much more traditional, and will continue to rage against the machine for a while longer.