Thursday, February 5

Sometimes you need a good cry

I just never expected it would be over something so seemingly ridiculous. You all know and remember Washburn, correct? You know, the Rottweiler puppy who's actually the size of a small mule? The one that I love so much? Oh, here, have a photo.

Because, trust me, his cuteness was about the only thing that saved him this morning. Whatever happened? I'll tell you. It's what I'm here for, anyway, right?

I don't have an extensive stash of high quality yarns. We can't afford them with how fast I usually whip up projects. So my stash is rather large, but consists of a lot of acrylic yarn. I have a couple skeins and one or two cones of cotton yarn - my preferred medium - and a few skeins of highly guarded and well-loved wool.

In order to protect this yarn, MarvMan, the efficient, handy man that he occasionally can prove himself to be, added a lock to one of the cabinets on my desk. I could easily slide both baskets into this cabinet, along with my bag of polyfil and one other bag full of hemp and beads for when I'm feeling particularly ambitious and crafty.

This past week, I have been a crocheting fool. I've worked up numerous projects and have been immensely proud of some of the things I've come up with. But hooking so much (hehe hehe) means that my yarn basket is almost constantly in use. So it moved from the cabinet to the foot of the stool I am usually sitting on while I crochet.

There have been issues before where Washburn turned into a canine terrorist and has gone after my yarn. It's a heart shattering thing, really. One works so hard to build up their stash - pure or not - and then someone or something attacks it. What I woke up to this morning was no exception.

I forgot to feed Washburn last night. It was a small mistake that anyone could make, given my lack of appropriately firing brain cells after a day of listening to the girls scream and fight. However, I think that what Wash did in retaliation was really, over the top and unnecessary.

I walked out into the living room to a mess that could only have happened after a childrens' party at which all the attendees had been given cans of silly string. My cone of cream-colored cotton was in shambles. My red so-soft had apparently been shaken to get an end loose and then was promptly disemboweled across the center of the cream cotton explosion.

I could have ignored the fact that the hat I was working on was now torn to pieces. That my fuzzy red yarn had been looked at and then carelessly discarded by the sofa. But what broke me down to the point of tears in the middle of the living room floor at 6:03 am?

There, on my green chair, was my white alpaca yarn. Mostly untouched with the exception of a few individual strands that had been chewed until they broke so that it looked like one of those giant koosh balls.

I broke down, y'all. Like a baby. Like a hungry, angry baby. (Bonus points if you get the movie reference.) I sat in the middle of this mess and would have made Kate Winslet proud of my dramatics, scooping up the entrails of yarn and letting them fall back to the floor, dead. Like my soul!

MarvMan heard the insanity. And I'm sure it frightened him. What man wouldn't be frightened hearing his wife sobbing and occasionally incoherently babbling about death and destruction and that damn, stupid dog that is clearly not his wife's but is now his sole property and the root cause of everything from poverty to global warming?

But he saved the day, folks. How? I'll tell you. In his half-asleep, super frightened state, MarvMan walked into the living room and surveyed the destruction. And this, is what he said:

"Honey, it's okay. We'll buy you some more yarn. Okay?"
*sniff, sniff* "Really?"
*sniff... sniff.* "Well, okay, then."

Because the only thing better than admiring your extensive stash is being on the hunt for new yarns to expand your stash.

No comments:

Post a Comment