Except I don't really swear

Several years ago, my dad bought a new saddle blanket that he uses for a rug and I had him get me one as well.

Then they both slowly unraveled over time in the corner.  Which was disappointing.  My whole life my parents have had saddle blanket rugs and they have always been sturdier.

Anyway.

Last time my dad was here he told me how he'd repaired his rug, with a sewing machine.

I was immediately skeptical because I have a very rocky relationship with my sewing machine.  I mostly keep it on a shelf so that neither of us gets hurt.

Yesterday I decided it was time to take matters in hand though.  I found some thread the same color as the rug.  I pulled the sewing machine out (even pulling it out of the closet was stressful because it was really wedged back in there).

I had to clear the bobbin of white thread and it kept getting in a tangle.

Then I wound the new turquoise thread and it was wonky.  I pulled it off and started again.

I finally got the bobbin properly threaded.  After several missteps I stuck it in the machine correctly.  I tried to slide the rug under the presser foot but nothing doing.  Too thick.

I raised the presser foot as high as I could (I had to have Adam loosen the screw).

I decided to take off the presser foot.  Do you really need that thing anyway?

Apparently.

The tension went all haywire and there were big loopy turquoise threads everywhere and the needle snapped in two.  I could feel it deep in the recesses of the wool rug but couldn't see it.

Finally I found it by feeling around and poking my finger painfully on it--it was not as enchanting as Sleeping Beauty though. I cut off all the errant threads and put my sewing machine away.

If I was a different sort of person, I think it would have been an occasion for colorful language.

Instead I retreated to read my Sophie Kinsella book for awhile.

Nobody can be uncheered by Sophie Kinsella.

(And next time I go to my parents' house, I'm taking my rug with me.)