Debbie, I Imagine?

I dearly remember my childhood friends Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine. I do not recall the circumstances that caused Sewing Machine to be encumbered with such a name, but being a sweet and accepting child, I rolled with it. I had no problem with the fact the Sewing Machine's name was not to be shortened or nicknamed in any way. She was Sewing Machine and that was okay. I loved playing with my little friends. We used to go to my grandparents' farm and we had a blast. They had a swingset there and a real live outhouse (why was THAT exciting? Shrug.) and (I know it doesn't really sound like a toy) this huge, I don't know, gas tank, I guess. Here,

So, we used to play on this thing all the time. If Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine weren't with me, my brother would play too, sometimes. We used to have contests to see who could jump onto the tank without using hands. We would come up with these routines like it was the Olympics or something and the gas tank was an apparatus. To be clear, my brother DID NOT participate in the Olympic thing. That was me, Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine. I seriously thought if the Olympic officials could see our routines, they would immediately include Gas Tank Gymnastics in the games and I would be the very first gold medalist. Even as I flipped and twirled on that honkin' gas tank, I never worried that it was dangerous. No one blew up, so we had that going for us.

*Girl* Which was nice.

Once in a while, one of us (usually me) would lose our grip and fall on our head. It wasn't far, though. There were no lasting effects.

My grandparents had this big barn with a big haymow on both sides, way high. In between was a rope. I don't know what the rope was for. It could not have been put there for grandchildren to try to kill themselves. But that's what we did with it. You could climb up and swing from the haymow and it was AWESOME! And none of us died from it. Yay. I think Debbie, Donna and Sewing Machine were a little scared of the rope. They never came into the barn with me. My cousins and I would play in there all day (or until our parents found us....yikes), but not Debbie, Donna or Sewing Machine. Scaredy cats.

I guess it's a little ironic how Sewing Machine died, considering the extreme level of caution she demonstrated at Grandpa and Grandma's. Even though I swang on the barn-rope, there were things I knew better than to go near. My Mom's sewing machine, for instance.

I used to watch her sew and, Oh My Gosh, was that thing scary! Her hands would get so close to the foot thingie and I was terrified that she would get her hand caught and get sewed to death.

So imagine my sorrow when my dear friend Sewing Machine was killed in a Horrible Sewing Machine Accident! I don't know exactly what happened. No one ever told me the gory details, but I tell you, my imagination went into overdrive. I pictured poor Sewing Machine, stitches up and down her limbs, droplets of blood staining the very thread that both killed her and held her together.

Luckily the next day, Sewing Machine was back! She came back to life! What joy! What thrill! No vicious sewing machine could beat my sweet Sewing Machine! YAY!!!! Debbie, Donna, Sewing Machine and I played together for a few years after that horrid incident. Every once in a while, Sewing Machine would die yet another hideous death, but she would always come back the next day, or at least the next week. Some accidents were worse than others. I think Sewing Machine's deaths were far more gruesome if my Mom had recently been mending on her heavy-duty machine rather than making doll clothes on her normal machine. Buuut I can't be sure.