The Fair Snow White, and A Little Something Else

Some of you who've been reading for a while (pardon me while I gawk at the improbability of having written that sentence in earnest. I really cannot believe that anybody actually reads this - despite a certain amount of evidence to the contrary) may recall that I suck - really, truly suck - at knitting from patterns. I know, you're thinking I'm just doing a toe-in-the-sand act or something, but I mean it. It's like I have a mental block about it.

Consequently, I have learned not to blow too much cash on patterns, however beautiful and admirable I may find them. And yet, I keep finding myself tempted - oh so sorely tempted - by this. I've loved it from afar ever since she came out with it, and I must have talked myself out of it at least a hundred times by now.

Okay, that is an exaggeration. Fifty.

But, oy, it's got a complicated tubular cast-on (anything other than the long-tail cast-on is complicated to me; see? I'm really not a very good knitter when all is said and done. I just talk about it a lot and have good taste in yarn), and it's on the all-rib, all-the-time, rib-till-your-fingers-cry network. (Cable channels are getting soooo specific these days, don'tcha think?)

(What is it with me and the parens tonight?)

But here I am again, eyeing my credit card and bookmarking that pattern page and thinking about what yarn I might use for it. Dare I? Will it all end in tears and a pile of rippled, frogged yarn? Yeah, but the pattern is only about 7 bucks USD.

In other news, I know you are all waitin' to hear about the date last night, especially since Cari keeps popping in to check on whether I've met him yet. And while I am tempted to just withhold the information out of sheer mischievousness, I'll refrain from leaving you hanging.

It was a good date, my friends. A good, interesting conversation over a nice dinner (they gave us the best table, which is funny, because I once had a date with the blonde at that same restaurant wherein they gave us the worst table, and I have come to think that that restaurant is like a pet which tells you whether or not it approves of someone in no uncertain terms). I have to admit, I have yet to have a really bad date (famous last words - somebody knock on a tree trunk, quick!), but this was one of the better ones.

I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a conversation with a male human who seems both male and human, if that makes any sense to you. Some boys are so obviously from Planet Boy that one needs a translator (wherein Boywich comes in handy). This one seemed to live on the planet of humans who think about things. You know, somewhere in the general vicinity of where I dwell. Nice.

PS. Sorry, no photos. I promise to start carrying my cameras again. Really. And at least you have lots of parenthetical asides and two uses of "wherein" (not counting that one) to keep you entertained.