No Man is an Island

But some knitters are.  Here at my sister's house, I'm surrounded by Muggles, Mortals, and Misfits:  Not a knitter in the bunch, save yours truly.

The other night I finished a mitten and held it up with pride for those assembled to admire.  I knew better than to do this, but just like a dog turning around three times before laying down, it is flatly impossible for me to finish a knitted item and not hold it up to show those around me "Lookit what I made!".  Postal employees, the gang in line at the pharmacy, and even gas station attendants have been witness to this behavior from me.  And they all manage to say something nice, even if it's because they're afraid of provoking the weirdo with the pointy needles in her fists.

Not so, my family.

My nephew Adam said the mitten looked like a barbecue oven mitt.

My sister Susan, assuming the object she had just stuffed her hand into was some sort of sub-par hand puppet, suggested that Googly-Eyes might help its looks.

My niece Sarah at least liked the color, which was welcome enthusiasm, but had to recommend that more fingers be added, since she was very sure that gloves always have separate compartments for each digit.  I explained that it was a mitten, and as such, has only one separate compartment, for the thumb, so all the others are forced to share.  I should have anticipated her response:

"So how can you knit with these on?"

God I miss Knit Nite.