The boys are better. Hallelujah. From this picture one might well ask why I bother putting water in the tub- they're obviously getting nowhere near it...
Jack’s socks are too short. Cute as hell, but definitely too short. Bugger. Ah well, the toe shaping was messed up anyway (what a surprise since I did it at the PP).
I have started socks for *gasp* myself. In a moment of self-delusion, I decided I should knit the Embossed Leaves socks. Now, I can’t knit lace. Really. I’ve tried several times with the simplest pattern known to mankind and I balls it up like crazy. So why I would have selected lace for socks I cannot even imagine. I looked at a nice cable pattern but rejected it because it involves knit and purl. Yeah, like lace doesn’t. I chalk it up to the emotional distress of yesterday. So far they’re going nicely though.
Yeah, that’s ribbing. Twisted rib, but just ribbing. Not much to screw up there.
The yarn rocks my world, though. Soft soft soft with tons of twist. Indigo Moon merino in Moss from, finally, the Purple Purl. Makes that Opal feel like steel wool.
Fairycakes is brought to you by Primitives.
Speaking of emotional distress, word on the street is that FC has left the building voluntarily. Since the gossip consensus seemed to think he had actually departed, I decided that now would be a good time to PHONE HIM UP AND ASK HIM OUT. Me. Lily-livered chicken-shit me.
I 411’d him and found the most likely candidate in the book. That’s hardly stalker behaviour is it? No, I didn’t think so. Driving by the house, maybe more so, but I haven’t done that. Yet. Anyway, I had to make sure it was him, so I *67’d myself and called.
Be still my beating heart. Machine, message, the whole nine yards, and yes it was him. So him, such a FC message. That was OK. Brief discussion with Morrison on how to proceed. Quality time with the sick kids and then. I went upstairs and did the deed.
OK, now after I walked upstairs with the phone I practically had to apply the defibrillator my heart was banging so hard. A few minutes to calm down and I was ready to go through my carefully scripted message. (Yes, scripted. I’m a moron and I know myself too well to wing it.) I’m not sure what would have happened if he had actually answered the phone at that point but I believe it would have involved either me slamming the phone down or the paramedics.
Fortunately that didn’t happen. However what did happen wasn’t much prettier. I made it through exactly two words of the script (“Hi, it’s”) before ballsing up my OWN NAME, but of course I couldn’t go back an correct that. What kind of idiot can’t say their own name? So now of course I’m in a full blown panic (he’s not going to know who it is! I’m a moron! Could this be any worse?) while trying to hold it together enough to leave SOME sort of message.
My solution? Babble. Um…so anyway…and I thought…ya know… God it was brutal. I sounded like a 14 year old with zero grasp of grammar, the English language, and vocabulary, and an IQ of about my bra size. I suppose I managed to get the message across but man, talk about a car wreck.
The ball is now totally in his court. I give him a month before I abandon all hope. After all he may well be away tying up his affairs.
Anyway, now I can stop all this obsessional behaviour. Yeah yeah, pick your self up off the floor. What could I possibly find to obsess about now that I’ve done the deed and he’s no longer at work for me to *possibly* run into? Check two phones for messages how many times a day? Refuse to answer either phone on the off chance it might be him? Drive by, crank call, other things I haven’t even thought of?
It’s going to be a looooong month, girls.
1 comment:
he heeh love that pic of the boys. skinny little beans and so handsome.
also, love that FC is in the shoe, even though the shoe must be returned.
also, WOO HOO on the phone call. for sure he's going to be busy tying up his THREE homes, but i feel sure he WILL call back because he is so gentlemanly.
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