Don’t get me wrong–I do love my machines. When I’m not hating them, and projecting profanity toward them. These oil-laden, unpredictable cast iron beasts can help create things of beauty. Alternatively, they can maul and mangle, turning hours of effort into scrap bin fodder.
The machine that works beautifully today can become infected with stitcher evil overnight and be hostile and uncooperative tomorrow. All by itself.
I think that’s what they mean by “love-hate relationship.”