Purls Before Sheep

The Sheep Clan gathered once again today to take yet another stab at securing the family fortune and ensuring that I can get access to whatever is needed should circumstances ever require it. This time, we remembered to bring everyone associated with the account and there were no questions with regard to permissions. Not dragging Daddy Sheep along with us last time to testify to the fact that Mommy Sheep and I were not attempting to make off with the dollars while he lay helplessly trussed in the basement was something of an error in judgement. Once his well-being was established, we were able to tweak the accounts to our liking with minimal difficulty. (Sort of...banking is very, very hard it turns out. It requires a great deal of time and a willingness to share the picture on your driver's license with complete disregard for the fact that it was raining the day it was taken and there was something of a "hair issue.")

Any Sheep Family Outing is not considered complete without some sort of food related activity and it just so happened that Banking Day landed on the same date as Lunching With Mommy Sheep's Side Of The Family Day. I like it when these things work out. The group was small, but included my favorite little cousin (who isn't really a cousin but rather a child who is connected to me through a series of complicated steps in the family tree and it is really just easier to call him, "cousin.") I am a big hit with the 9-year-olds of the world. And, frankly, it is a treat for me to get to hang out with someone else who appreciates it when the ketchup bottle makes a farting sound and who brings word searches that we can do together. The elementary school set is comprised of My People.

I kicked some serious tuchas on the word search, too. I had my special highlighter pen with me so it was really no contest. Lunch was pretty good, too. No lobster this time, though. I'm sort of "lobstered out" at this point. I needed some chicken and pesto to balance out all the seafood.

Once home, another happy thing awaited. As I was lying on the couch and bloating merrily away from all the pesto, I heard the faintest of jingling sounds. Thinking that the Smaller, Less Fluffy Kitty had emerged to bat about one of the Fuzzy Jingle Balls that she has so come to love, I took a moment to glance over and toss out a little kitty greeting. Imagine my surprise to see the Big, Fluffy Kitty and the Scary Mousie On A String that so terrified her the other night. It was a short little play period, perhaps thirty seconds of activity. But it was activity, nevertheless! My attempts at enticing the round feline into working off a few of the kitty pounds may just be working!!! We are not getting too excited at this point. Batting a stuffed Mousie On A String for a couple of seconds before dozing off again probably doesn't mean that she is ready to start her own cable access exercise program or anything. And it would probably be unreasonable to think that I will be able to retire on the profits from the resulting DVD series.

But it's a start...

Good thing we had a little of the happy going on today. Last night was something of a grump-fest over here. The second of the Bripple Socks, so hopefully cast on, was ripped in a fit of purl-hating tantrumming that does not reflect well on any adult. But, since I have already mentioned my finding great hilarity in the farting of the ketchup bottle, I suppose it isn't too much of a stretch to think that I have the occasional childish fit.

It really boils down to my hatred of purling. These socks have twelve rows of Garter Ripple. You knit one row in pattern. Then you have to purl. It's only six rows of actual purling. The fact that knitting follows should be enough to make it bearable. But it doesn't. It only makes the knitting rows more sad. You know that the purling is to come. And I hate purling. But I persevered and made it through those dreaded twelve rows in record time and looked forward to many, many hours of happy knitting with nary a purl in sight until the heel loomed.

But then I lost a stitch. And I had to tink back. Then I lost two stitches. And then I got a little off-track emotionally. It was probably an overreaction to rip out an entire sock over the whole thing. I'm sure I could have worked back to a happier, if purl-ridden place. But that didn't occur to me at the time. I was overwrought and this, in turn, led to overreacting. I ripped the whole stupid thing and said,

"There!!!! How do you like that, Bripple? Who's the loser now, huh??? "

It occurred to me shortly thereafter that the loser in this equation might be me. I was now back to purling.

And I hate purling.

SA