Machine

I knew the honeymoon wouldn't last forever. I knew the dynamic would change. My friends all told me that once the kids came, it would never be the same. Apparently, romance fades with the introduction of offspring quicker than a pair of blue jeans soaking in a puddle of bleach. And I'm OK with that, really, I am. Our love for each other is still strong and I wouldn't give up those beautiful twins of mine for all the romance in the world. But the wife has gone and done something I never expected. She has replaced me with a machine.

She knows it's wrong. She must. That's why she hides it from view. She never leaves it lying around for the kids or the neighbors to find. Oh, no. She closes the door and draws the curtains before she succumbs to it's rhythmic undulations, it's small but powerful motor pulsating with variable speed underneath that sleek ultra-white exterior. The machine can go for hours on end without tiring, sustaining her pleasure for as long as she likes while I, on the other hand, can't seem to please her for more than five minutes at a stretch. But what really irks me is that the machine was a gift from her mother.

You've probably guessed by now that the machine in question is her Pfaff 260 Automatic sewing machine. And she takes better care of it than she does me. But that's OK, too, because she's actually been making money with it. And she likes to sew, she really does. So check out her stuff here. And cross your fingers and hope that one day, she remembers that she still has a husband, and he's sitting on the couch trying to figure out how to compete with that infernal machine.