I have confiscated a copy of the guide to master the Singer beast. A machine designed to destroy the most brutal of man - or to create the most heavenly wonders this world has yet to see. But just to make things complicated, the last few weathered pages have become nearly unreadable. The key, and most vital of information.
But my drive to finish this quest overwhelms me. I must press on! I squint to make out the faded, choppy print. Patiently I pour over the pages, deciphering the complicated paths the lines make on the page. And at last I am a step closer to achieving my goal . . . a perfect match of two harmless pieces of hawser and it is finally done.
I follow the guides direction, slowing weaving in and out of crevices and winding turns until the tail end is pulled through. But yet, there is a matched set of the cable that needs to make the perfect match. It seems easy.
Too. Easy.
I slip it in, following the instructions provided by the one who left these words to be discovered by an adventurer like me. The execution seems flawless. My destination, my dream, is at hand. With every thing in place, I press forward the lever to start my creation and the beast whirs to life! My eyes widen with delight as everything seems to be falling into place when suddenly -
scrrrrt sputter chugchugchug ssssssttttttt clunk
I look down and three perfect stitches are all that comes from it. My ultimate ideal - a perfectly altered pair of leggings. A pair made just for me, that shows the signs of a well fitted garment is naught. I feel defeated.
The Singer beast has won today. But I am not a weak adventure-seeker. I WILL tame this machine. I WILL have my way. I WILL become the MASTER OF THE SEWING MACHINE!
But how have I come across the momentous journey? Another time, I think. Another entry . . . .
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