Pirates of the Caribbean 4

...Curse of the Knit/Purl

Holy freakin' moly. This is why knitters get no respect.

Brick

If it means what I think it means, I want Molly's brick.

My Real Personality

I remember seeing a greeting card once where a cartoon woman, lamenting the true nature of the monthly feminine monster said, “My biggest fear is that PMS doesn’t exist and that this is my real personality.”

It’s a genuine fear.

Unfortunately for me, I don’t get a heads-up that my “friend” is coming to visit. One moment I'm fine and the next I'm doubled over in pain and begging someone - anyone - to get me pills, a hot water bottle and something (anything) that contains whiskey, honey and lemon.

And so it was this afternoon. At lunch, after a shopping trip to Helen Bateman in Edinburgh, it started. We were sitting in a restaurant waiting to order and I started to feel funny... that special kind of funny – my stomach started to hurt, only it wasn't my stomach exactly, it was just south of that and it’s not so much hurting as it is aching, dull and constant and making me feel more ill at ease than sick.

That’s how it makes me feel – uncomfortable in my own skin, aching in places where the pain doesn’t actually exist, overly sensitive (sound, movement, everything) and I really, really need to be under a comforter, out of the way of everyone with a woobie and a drinkie. The confined space of an Audi A3 is not the place to experience the height of your PMS throes.

I tried willing myself to sleep (it worked when my mother took me to the drive-in to see Blacula when I was a very small child). I tried turning off the radio, but then I could actually hear the husband rustling in a plastic bag retrieving and chewing his Haribo Tangfastics (which, strangely, didn’t bother me when I was helping him eat them on the way up). I tried staying awake with the radio on and watching the road, but then I could feel every, single movement of the car, fret about the curves and how severe they would be before we actually took them and make them into a bigger deal than they actually were. And this is from someone who does not get motion sick. Mind you, all of this was happening in my head since I wasn’t saying it out loud for fear of sounding like a neurotic, overly-sensitive nutter who also happens to be experiencing period pain.

The husband didn't seem to be properly sympathizing. It's because boys don’t go through things like this. I wish they did. If men experienced PMS, it would be legal to take ketamine and drink in the car once a month. And it would be a paid day off.

Are You Being Served?

On Saturday past, my friend and her mother took me to a new yarn shop in North Yorkshire.

It was a beautiful drive through the Yorkshire Dales on a day that should have been rainy and dull, but was instead bright and brisk, with very little rain (that didn't start until we left an excellent little cafe where we were served warm scones with warm Yorkshire butter and fresh strawberry jam; Ahhh, my mouth is watering just writing this!).

The shop was a gem - Noro as far as the eye could see and the first skeins of Colinette that I have seen since I've been in the UK (strangely). Mrs. Scott had scarf and throw kits (I do so love a throw kit) with Colinette, Noro or Debbie Bliss yarns; there were pattern books that I hadn't seen the likes of since I went to Stash in London.

I purchased all the wool I would need to complete the Lizard Ridge throw from the Fall 2006 issue of Knitty. I chose silk Garden for a softer throw and was (more than a little) relieved to be able to give up my quest for 21 skeins of Noro Kureyon in 21 different colorways that would be vibrant enough to liven up an espresso-colored sofa, but not too garish. I was very pleased with my purchase.

I arrived home and was showing the husband the color that I'd chosen when I noticed that the skein I had in my hand was a different color from the next skein in the bag. In fact, it was a different color from all of the other skeins in the bag. It was, in point of fact, a different color from all of the skeins in the other bag as well.

Well, shit.

As the shop was so far away, I panicked for a moment, called my friend that I had been with earlier to tell her what happened and then decided that since the shop was now closed (and would be until Monday) there was nothing to do but wait.

Sooo, this morning, I called the shop and spoke with Mrs. Scott. She was as perplexed as I was as to how the mistake could have happened and seemed to be somewhat at a loss what to do. No worries, I said, we (the husband and I) would drive back up there today to exchange the yarn. As it was unexpectedly a nice day, with rain yet threatened for later in the week, there was no use in us just sitting in the house today. Off to the Yorkshire Dales we went.

I expected to get there, exchange the yarn, grab a meal in one of the nearby cafes and then head home. I expected the shop proprietor to be slightly apologetic, give us the yarn and see us on our way. Instead, she went over the shade cards with us to make sure that we had exactly what we needed/wanted, left us alone as we had a quick browse around and then, to my delight and surprise, she gifted me with a skein of Colinette Jitterbug in the Sahara colorway and a set of Brittany DPNs. Nice! She said it was for our trouble at having to come back to the shop.

Now, that's what I call customer service.

You Know You're Tired When...

You're frantically searching the restaurant booth for your keys and you're holding them in your hand.

Sigh.