Just to give you some perspective, that chest the Frankentote is sitting on is three feet wide.
Here's how the Frankentote evolved. A couple of years ago, I took a one-day class to learn how to make a sewing machine cover. I was told I could modify the directions in order to make a larger one for my larger home machine.
Math ensued, sometimes correctly, sometimes not. The instructor would try to help me from time to time, but she was busy with other students, and seemed to be having an "off" math day herself, perhaps. There were many pieces, and there was foam to cut, and fabric, and ribbon, and so on.
The hours wore on. The classroom was small and crowded. Any time anyone needed to cut fabric or stabilizer/foam, one had to move one's sewing machine onto the floor, and pick up one's cutting mat and put it on the table, and then reverse the process in order to sew.
Couldn't you hear me cursing? Don't you remember that day a couple of years ago when you suddenly seemed to hear someone cursing loudly right next to you, but you were alone? You weren't schizophrenic--that was me!
By the end of the class, I had: nothing. Basically a bunch of large flat pieces of foam and fabric. Some of the foam was covered with fabric, some not.
These large flat pieces lay across bags and bins of other fabric in my closet for YEARS. Sorry, didn't mean to shout. They were in my way every time I wanted to dig something out of said bags and bins. I was constantly moving them around, irritated every time. Twice I pulled them out and said, "I am going to finish this," and I would read the directions again, because I had completely forgotten what I was doing. I even retyped the directions with my math revisions hoping that would help me move forward. I thought of making a tote out of it instead. I couldn't decide.
It was too confusing, and I had too many other projects to distract me, and back the big, flat, annoying pieces would go, into the closet, forever in my way.
She murmured something vague about how it might be a good item for one of our raffle baskets.
I said, "I need this," and shoved it in my bag and walked away. I still marvel at my selfishness. In my defense, she should never have brought it anywhere near the Treasure Table if she meant it to go in a raffle.
Now I had a sewing machine cover! I didn't have to make one! Glory, glory, hallelujah!
The decision was made: the giant flat annoying pieces would be a tote! Out of the closet, onto the cutting table, combining the original pattern with a different pattern. There were a few mistakes made, there was a bit of seam ripping, a bit of cursing (under my breath; I'm certain you didn't hear me), and behold: IT'S ALIVE!!!!!
With pockets! Let there be dancing in the streets!