Sunday, December 10, 2006

 

I Brought Her Wool and She Jumped Me


Tonight I had the singularly pleasant experience of spending my pre-dinner hour driving around town with Her Surreal Highness and delivering wool to two of the ladies who won prizes at that hat dealie over there.

My first visit was to Heather and it was really delightful to meet her face-to-face after having previously corresponded with her via email. We arrived a little late, due to my address-related dyslexia. (On one side of main street the addresses go UP, on the other side they go DOWN. OK, so I'm a little special or something.) We had a brief chat on her front porch and I scuttled back to the car feeling all warm and fuzzy.

The fuzziness quickly dissipated as I started my piece of shit van and ...

No, wait. Let me rephrase that. The fuzziness quickly dissipated as I tried to start my piece of shit van and discovered to my distress that starting just wasn't in our immediate future. (I will here interject that not the entire van is a piece of shit, however the battery-related portions thereof are decidedly fecal and we might as well just admit it and move on). I smugly hauled out The Eliminator, a recent bicep-flexing, sweaty testosterone-fuelled purchase. (seriously, after buying this -- an older model actually -- I was scared that The Uterus Police were going to come to my house and revoke my right to gestate)

I quickly discovered that no matter how butch you feel when buying things like this, you swiftly turn into a slightly-embarrassed summer school art-camp reject when you realize that you haven't recharged it since the last time you had to boost your own piece of shit battery and it doesn't have enough power to boost said crapulorious item yet again.

I gathered up Missy Moo, carefully avoiding the cheerful and very chatty junkie on the sidewalk (she was very nice and completely harmless, and quite possibly will be one of the persons benefiting from these hats y'all have been sending in, but really, this was no time for idle, slightly slurred, chitchat). We raced back to Heather's house and stood on the doorstep for a few minutes, fruitlessly pushing the doorbell. I wondered if the yarn lust had perhaps overtaken her and she was unable to answer the door, but soon figured that Kureyon is nice, but it's hardly merino/tussah and this was unlikely. I knocked and she quickly came to the door, explaining that the doorbell doesn't work.

I was relieved. I'd hate to think that she was that easy. (I hold out for tencel, at the very least, myself.)

She obligingly brought her vehicle along the street to where I was (illegally) parked and we got The Beast started again with little further ado. We agreed that there was almost no possiblity that my van was a tool of the debbil, as if in fact it was it would likely work better, but that a new battery was likely a good idea.

I didn't tell her that this was the first time I'd ever jumped my own car from another vehicle, and that usually I relied on the menfolk (or more knowledgeable womenfolk) to help me with this, or on The Eliminator. I think I pulled it off pretty well, though. I'm betting she didn't realize until just about now that I'm nowhere near as tough as I was pretending to be.

Thanks again, Heather! And I'm (almost) sorry I just trashed your reputation

We then set off to Ch├ęz Quimby to deliver the yummy, yummy Regia Erin won, just in time for her first sock class in January.




Regia was the yarn I used for the first sock (somehow lost in the chaos of this studio) I ever made, and although I've never yet fondled a sock yarn I didn't like, I must say I have a soft spot for it. Beautiful bright colours and it's soft!

(I say that as if I've made a million socks. I have completed two, have one that's well past the gusset but has the wrong number of stitches on the needles, and the cuff of another. That's my entire sock history. I've just got an amazing shitpile of sock yarn here so I feel like I'm some sort of expert.)

Missy E and I took a present for Erin's demented husband as well, and in return for this largesse we received the cutest take-out carton type box full of the world's most amazing home-made cookies. Dudes, I have NO idea what she does with these but I've never had better cookies in my life and I'm very sorry I told Ben where I put the box. Or Eleanor for that matter.

I suspect there may be crack or something in them 'cause Miss I-Don't-Have-Much-Of-A-Sweet-Tooth here ate four or five without even taking a breath.

I'm thinking of mugging her for the recipe next time we go over (she's due for more yarn in about a week to ten days, I think) but we all know how much I bake. Maybe I should just work on ways to become her new verybestfriend.

They're that good. Now let's just hope she doesn't find out what a bitch I really am and never asks me over again.

Oops.

Comments:
Dear Rabbitch:

I'll swap you cookies for yarn any day! (Let's not discuss who I think would be getting the better end of that deal - it might dissuade you....mwaah hahahahah)

Regards,
Mrs. Quimby
 
So have ya charged up the eliminator yet?
 
Girl, I'll jump ya anytime! Foshizzle.
 
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