Last night we had a pretty formidable ice storm. After surveying the wonderland from the safety of my bedroom window, I leapt into action and dressed for the day. I settled on my favorite destroyed jeans, a t-shirt, and a Pendleton wool shirt that makes me feel like Johnny Cash. Here I am, ready for a day of pattern-writing:
Notice anything unusual about my Johnny Cash wool shirt?
How about now:
Yep. Those are stitch markers. I hooked them through the buttonhole on my shirt last time I had it on (who remembers?) to avoid losing them.
And then forgot all about them until today.
Knitting has become part of my body. An integral part of my everyday goings on. To the degree that I (and those around me) don't even notice. Three people and a dog saw me this morning before the first photo, and not one commented on the stitch markers. Okay, I'm letting the dog off because he might have tried to tell me.
And this is by no means new. I once had a hair stylist nimbly remove a cable needle from behind my ear. I'm forever stabbing myself on errant DPNs in the depths of my handbag. And don't get me started on the stitch markers. They are found in every conceivable crevice.
Yep, Knitting, I belong to you. Whether you want me or not, I'm yours. I've been assimilated. I hope it works out the way we both want.