Stitchzilla
Once upon a time, in a small, thread-filled apartment, there was a brave soul who dared to venture into the world of embroidery. That brave soul was—Aggie! Of course, my only weapons were a shiny new embroidery machine I lovingly nicknamed “Stitchzilla” and a YouTube playlist titled “Embroidery for Absolute Beginners (No Seriously, You’ll Need Help).” With starry eyes and zero experience, I was ready to conquer the embroidery world—or at least sew a recognisable flower.
On my first day, I prepared with military precision. Fabrics? Check. Hoops? Check. Coffee to keep my spirits high? Double-check. I started by threading the machine, which I assumed would be a simple task. Five minutes in, I realised I was wrong. A couple of mistakes, tangled threads and cuts later, with the dexterity of a sleep-deprived cat, I managed to thread Stitchzilla successfully. Yay!
Next came the fabric. I placed it in the hoop, thinking, “How hard can it be?” Well, the hoop thought differently. It pinched, twisted, and slipped off more times than I could count. By the time I secured it, it looked like the fabric had been through a wrestling match—and lost. But no matter - I was undeterred. “Let’s make art!”.
My first project was a simple rose. I pressed the machine’s start button and stood back, half-expecting confetti. Instead, Stitchzilla roared to life like a caffeinated robot, whirring and stitching with reckless abandon. For a few glorious seconds, it looked like a rose was coming to life. But then, the thread tangled, fabric puckered, and the machine made a noise that can only be described as a “mechanical death rattle.” It was tangled in thread—hundreds of tiny loops that had somehow formed what looked like a terrifying bird's nest. Panic set in.
I paused. “Okay, maybe not a rose,” I said, unraveling the mess with all the patience I could muster. “Something simpler.” I downgraded to a circle. Easy, right? Wrong. What emerged could generously be described as “abstract art” or, if I was brutally honest, a lumpy potato with anxiety issues.
Over time, though, things improved. Stitch by stitch, tangle by tangle, me and Stitchzilla became partners in crime (and occasional chaos). I embroidered crooked letters, terrifying animals, and patterns so wild they seemed inspired by fever dreams. Each mistake was a lesson. Each tangled thread? A badge of honour.
Fast forward to today—I’ve come a long way. Now, I digitise designs, handle fabric with finesse, and even tame Stitchzilla with a little smile. But I’ll never forget that lumpy potato, the fabric-wrestling matches, and the tangled nests that tried (and failed) to break my spirit.
And so, my embroidery journey continues—a mix of art, comedy, and lots and lots of thread. Keep laughing, keep stitching, and never forget: every masterpiece starts with a misbehaving hoop and a healthy dose of chaos.