My Sixth-Born

Last weekend a friend and I went on a bit of a "sale-ing" trip. Unlike the trip before it, where ice cream pails and tomato-stained tupperware were on special; this Saturday was a sure winner. I had the heart-stopping joy and exhileration of discovering this "Vulcan Child's Hand Operated Sewing Machine" carelessly tossed onto a table amongst hairy elastics and "Buns of Steel" exercise tapes. In its original box! It was one of those moments where I feared that in my excitement, I might just turn out and run away in fear of not being able to cope with the adrenalin rush.

Colour wise, it is also an excellent choice. We wouldn't want any one tone of machine dominating the place, or anything. We've got the three actual work machines right now. All in workerman shades of beige and white. Functional, sensible, humble, industrious beige. Then in the "Don't-Hate-Me-Because-I'm-Beautiful" category; we now have the old black singer. Kind of the matriarch of the place- an elder, I suppose you could say. She tones down the brazen, shameless hussy of a princess machine- Old Pinkie. Pinkie is just in a class of her own. She has special priveleges, so even if she is a bit stupid, and crass, all is forgiven. And now, it's like we have a second generation coming into the mix! Our little darling. Our little Vulcan, in neither black nor pink but more of a discreet shade of café au lait, camel, coffee, dun, ecru, fawn, or oatmeal *

(compliments of msn encarta thesaurus. I'm not that versed on these ridiculous names for colours....)

Keep your eyes peeled in the next issue of your local small town newspaper. I think I may get the whole gang to pose for one of those wildly exciting photographs of third and fourth generation family shots....