It’s all Trainman’s fault. No, he didn’t steal a smooch on the 5:35 last night. It’s a little more complicated and a whole lot less exciting than that.
I had finished the gusset increases on Sock #2 and was ready to finish tinking Sock #1 back to the same point. I reached into my bag and pulled out four empty bamboo DP’s and clamped them crosswise between my lips [lipstick long-since history, so no danger to needles or knitting there] as I worked them into the stitches on my Addi circ. About halfway around the sock, he starts chuckling.
“Oh, I know that lips-pursed-up look. I’m in trouble, and you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”
I mumbled around the two needles still in my mouth,“My lips aren’t pursed. They’re keeping my needles from falling on the floor.”
“Nope, you’re mad at me, I can tell.” This, with a big mischievous grin on his face.
I took the needles out for a minute. “No, I’m in listening mode. Your turn to talk. Fire away!”
“You kiss people with those lips? Knowing where those needles have been?”
“Not recently, no. And I know exactly where these needles have been. In my hands, which are clean, and not-on-the-floor!”
And then it developed, or possibly degenerated, into a reminiscence of the last time either of us had been kissed by somebody who knew what they were doing. December 2006 for me. And somewhat more recently for him, but still fairly pitiful.
So I got off the train and into my car and buckled my seatbelt and took off to pick up Middlest. And turned left, to go home, instead of right to head to her house. I was thinking about that last kiss from the last boyfriend.
And had to make a U-turn at the next exit.
Another Trainman story from last night. He asked if my child were out of jail yet. I told him that she had sent me a text message saying that she was out, and she was safe.
He asked if she had gotten a prison tattoo while she was in the slammer. I told him I was severely tempted to text her and ask. He egged me on. So I did. “Trainman wants to know if you got a prison tattoo? Maybe in the form of a Hot Pocket or a slice of cold pizza?” [That’s what they fed her in the hoosegow.]
“ha ha you’re funny”
And then, of course, I had to explain to him why I called him Trainman, “because it’s faster and easier than saying ‘the nice man I talk to on the train’.”
And he said, “Oh, that’s so cool. I have a nickname, and [Decorator Dude] doesn’t.”
“Actually, he does. Decorator Dude. But you got yours before he got his, because I’ve known you longer.”
The let’s-jump-off-a-cliff part of me thinks that I should tell him that I missed the exit, and it was all his fault, because he brought up the topic of kissing, and I got distracted, and maybe he should kiss it better. The smart part of me thinks I should just clamp a knitting needle [or 12] in my mouth until that urge passes.
Let me tell you about the goodness of God. You might think that this is an ordinary skein of yarn. It is not. It is a hug from my friend Tan, nominally an award for a contest on her blog, but really her way, and God’s way, of saying, “I love you, and I value you, and I value our friendship.” There is no other explanation for the fact that opening this package while I was relieving @ switchboard, should move me to tears. Thank you, ma’am!
Switching topics now, before we all get too verklempt. If you have made financial resolutions this year, you might find this helpful. Even though I am irresolute, I still thought it was interesting and useful.
@Melissa: hi, welcome, and thanks for de-lurking!
We now return you to your regularly scheduled knitting.
- Five 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!