Came home early from Knit Night, plowed through my inbox, saw the notification of a new match on the Churchboy Dating Service. My gut reaction, sight unseen, resembled Dorothy Parker’s classic line when she answered the phone: “What fresh hell is this?” [I look on the alleged matches that the service provides with what my father would have called love, and suspicion.] What came out of my mouth when I saw who it was? “Oh cr@p!!!” I would not be surprised if the girls heard me in Arlington, and maybe even Middlest in Virginia Beach.
Brother Abacus. [dunh dunh dunh = organ notes of doom]
Which almost negated the relief that I’d felt when I walked in the door and saw my cell phone on the coffee table, safe and sound. He is now blocked from seeing me and hidden from my own searches. Mwa ha ha ha ha.
There is other good news. Fourthborn got a call yesterday from Official Post Office Dude, wherein she confirmed that no, indeed, we did not get Cuprit. He is reporting that sad fact to the manufacturer in Korea. Sometime between now and the end of the world as we know it, we should get my doll and the other stuff that Fourthborn ordered.
I celebrated with a judicious portion of yummy almond gelato.
I’ve sewn the final seam on the necktie skirt and embellished it with embroidery like the other 13 seams; taken my leftover bias tape and carefully pressed it into a curve and hand-stitched it to the top edge of the skirt; and edge-stitched it by hand. Next up? stitching the other edge of the casing, putting the hem facing together, and stitching it in place. And then I’ll deal with the issue of elastic.
- 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!