In which Ms. Ravelled learns that not only did she miss the most recent lecture by the ever-amazing Yarn Harlot, but there is a new yarn store a few blocks from the duplex in which she used to live, until she married Beloved.
In less noisy news, it appears that I like shark. Rather a lot. Is it OK to put it on my bucket list just to have the pleasure of marking it done?
I have something less than ten rounds to go, before I start adding sleeves to the sweater body in progress. I will be heading back out to the living room in a few minutes.
I will watch the odd football game with Beloved. I am starting to ask thoughtful questions about football, if thoughtful and football are not entirely and utterly oxymoronic. I draw the line at Survivor. If I want terror and drama, I will examine the balance in my check register the day before payday, or contemplate a world without cashmere. Or dark chocolate.
I voted with my feet. My feet brought my hands to the computer, which took me to Google Reader, which led me to the realization that very few people at the tribal feast last night would have understood, had I stood them up to go listen to the Yarn Harlot.
Time to go knit, in hopes of taking the edge off.