[The late Neal A. Maxwell would be so, well … Proud! He was the avatar of alliteration. Oh, how I miss him.]
SuburbanCorrespondent said it well.
Orson Scott Card said it even better:
The church says it best of all:
Why the Word of Wisdom is inspired, but nowhere near as funny as this.
My friend S at work looked at my desk and started giggling helplessly.
When she was finally able to speak, she picked up the ball of yarn, squeezed it gently, and said, “When I saw this, I thought ‘Just a spool full of yarn makes the medicine go down’.”
[Except when the office manager calls you into her office and politely requests that there be no more knitting in staff meetings. Sigh. I completely support her right to make the rules. I will comply. I do not promise to stay awake, or to refrain from snoring. Put me in a dark room and make me be quiet? I will fall asleep, unless there is testosterone very nearby and the source of said testosterone, i.e., my (currently nonexistent, in case you hadn’t noticed) spousal unit, has an intense and vested interest in keeping me awake. I fall asleep a lot. Next question, please!]
Maybe we should teach Congress to knit. And those who call themselves reporters. Right before we vote them all off the island? [We will *not* be voting my office manager off the island. She is a mighty fine office manager, knitting muggleness aside. Mugglehood?]
My KnitPicks order came in the mail yesterday. You know what this means, don’t you? Eleanora may be going back into purdah. And I am once again yarn-whispering with that gorgeous, chunky turquoise Chelsea Silk. Fat yarn trumps red. Who knew?
Much mischief in tomorrow’s post. Stay tuned!
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!