Forty-Seven at One Blow

“Beware when children make no noise.” My mother-in-law offered me this piece of advice when my #1 was a mere babe in arms.  I saw no urgent need to pose questions, so this pearl of wisdom was stored in my mental lockbox for a later time. Fast forward to the future when #1 was close to 4-and #2 was two-plus. We began to come across some puzzling bits of malfeasance.  The sole of an iron was found among it’s entrails. An inexpensive, old-style alarm clock had been completely disassembled. Metal latches on Regina’s suitcases had been successfully opened and the contents therein messily examined. But, when had these two devils done these things? Hadn’t we all been vigilant?  I wasn’t getting it: that pearl was still in the lockbox.

The day came when my trusty Pfaff sewing machine refused to sew. It protested the moment the pressure foot came down with a loud electric hum on a steady middle C-flat. It screamed, “I can’t sew! Stop it! Do something!”  You see, our Pfaff represented a milestone in our married life. As our first major purchase, it had been acquired only after haggling for a (Pfaff) house credit. The spiel was slick. This fine piece of German engineering could do everything, even thread the needle. It was guarantie pour la vie. With a wave and a blessing, the salesman instructed us that if there was ever a problem to just take it to any Pfaff store and they would fix it at no charge. Wow! That German outfit was really confident in their product.  

At the time of the Pfaff-outage I was in the midst of several projects. With the typical impatience of youth I was frustrated. Without a second thought I threw the boys in the back seat of our jalopy, & tootled off with my sick machine in the trunk to the nearest store.  Madame la Patronne, a lady of a certain âge & authorité, had a store on the main street of the old town. She greeted me with great reserve. Not, a breathy“Vous desirez?,” (What would you like?) but, a metallic “Puis-je vous être utile, Madame?” (What can I do for you, Madam?) The severity of her expression and the glint in her eye told me right away I wasn’t very welcome. Nevertheless, with all due respect I explained my purpose. With a shrift “Aha! I see,” she gave me a work order to fill out, and informed me that it would take 2-weeks before pick up. 

I dutifully bided my time, and then the three of us went to collect my Pfaff. This time there wasn’t even a pretense of politesse. “Madame,” she proclaimed loudly, before the entry bell finished ringing or the door closed. “Your machine is ready. But, know that our repairman had to painstakingly remove forty-seven straight pins from the inner mechanism!” This time she had an audience of customers and she managed to embarrass me good and proper. All I could do was reply lamely that I had no idea, I never saw any pins anywhere sticking out, and meekly utter, excusez-moi, s’il vous plait!  I picked up my heavy machine & trudged out, followed by my two partners in crime who showed not a scintilla of guilt on their cherubic faces. 

Alas! Once again I had been a Mère Indigne (unworthy mother). Later, Jean-Jacques explained. “Mon cherie, look at it her way. Here she is trying to make ends meet by selling Pfaffs. Then you come with a Pfaff that not only she didn’t sell you, but that she must pay a technician to repair under the life guarantee. All the same, it was time to retrieve this pearl from my mental lockbox: Mefiez-vous du silence des enfants!  (See beginning)