Lindsay went with me to Knit Nite last week. I don't always take her along, but when I see her working her guts out to get her homework finished in time to go with me, it's hard to say no. Our clever friends from Abstract Fiber had been up to some very good tricks, indeed. They brought two new colorways for the approval of the assembly. This was the winner:
And HOW, you may reasonably ask, did it come to be in my flowerpot? For once, it wasn't my fault. Lindsay latched onto it and would not let go. She displayed the entire spectrum of yarn lust behaviors in about 15 minutes.
First she tried stealth: She stuck it in my knitting bag. I informed her that not only was the skein a prototype, and therefore not up for grabs, but also, everybody there had seen her try to make off with it and were guaranteed to rat her out. Next she tried artifice: One after the other, she made impassioned arguments to the yarnmakers, to me, to anyone who would listen, as to why she should have that yarn for her very own. When that failed, she resorted to abject begging. Immune as I am to the whole gamut of Smally-Simpering, I never thought it would work. But I underestimated her; the kid could melt ice with a doe-eyed snivel. It was a pretty impressive display. Worthy of her mother, actually. Clearly she learnt at the knee of the master.
I pried the yarn from her death grip and gave it back to Susan, who stopped laughing long enough to confer with Karen on the perfect name for the new colorway: "Lindsay".
And then she gave the newly-christened skein back to Lindsay, for keeps.
She hasn't let it out of her sight since. Yeah, I know it's weird for a 12-year-old to want to sleep with a skein of yarn. And no, I didn't let her. I was afraid too much abrasion would damage the skein. Clearly the fiber disease has failed to skip a generation. Just tell me though (Give it to me straight; I can take it):
Is Lindsay's disorder genetic, or did she contract it from me?