There are hidden blessings to having no idea about US geography – I get some wonderful surprises. (Before you read this next sentence and are stunned stupid at the depth of my ignorance, remember that they teach Canadians about as much US geography as they teach Americans about Canadian geography.) In the absence of a dead giveaway (like “Long Beach” which sort of has a tip off in it) I was absolutely delighted to arrive in Madison
Connecticut and discover that I was at the sea! (Technically, Long Island Sound, but it sure looked like the ocean to me.)
The sock and I hung out for a bit, it was a scorcher of a day and I waded happily in the ocean for a little, communing with the birds and admiring the seashells they leave on the boardwalks and piers. It’s a lovely spot, West Wharf Beach. I tried to Kinnear myself with the self-timer on the camera.
But it turns out it’s sort of hard to secretly take pictures of yourself.
I don’t shower. I may have mentioned this before… my home growing up had just a bathtub, and our home now is similarly showerless, and I may have been somewhat formed by a viewing of the shower murder scene in Psycho at a vulnerable age. A combination of that cinematic trauma and my lack of exposure to this method of human cleansing has resulted in a collosal discomfort with showering in general. I bathe. You can read, no water falls on your head, you can hear any knife wielding murderer coming in….you know if your kids have started a fire or the phone is ringing. Baths are better….so imagine my regret when my hotel room just had this:
Sadly, I had got to the beach and gotten myself somewhat grubby before I had internalize the lack of a bath, so I couldn’t just opt out.
I briefly considered just washing the serious bits with a washcloth, but decided that personal growth is an admirable goal and that I should just put on my big girl pants and suck it up. Showering. Millions of people do it. I can too. I double locked the door, checked the closet and under the bed and i got myself in there, washing up as efficiently as I was able.
Have I ever mentioned that I am sort of “cautious” about spiders? I don’t care for them. I respect their right to be here, wholeheartedly support their bug eating role in the universe and have read and enjoyed Charlotte’s web many times. I still don’t like them. I especially don’t like them close to me…. so you can imagine my horror when I spotted one of the eight legged interlopers in the shower with me.
There is no arguing with ones psyche, so to put it in simple terms, when confronted with a spider IN A SHOWER (think on the stress level of combining two fears at once) I…to put it mildly…
I lost my s**t.
I wigged out. It was between me and the shower exit. It was huge. I couldn’t see it properly because I didn’t have my glasses on (I hate that about showers) so I could not even be clear if it was advancing on me. It loomed and lurked viciously at me from the shower floor and I FLIPPED. I threw my soapy self past the shower curtain, fleeing soaking wet and very nearly hysterical as the voice in the back of my mind screamed helpful things like “YOU ARE GOING TO DIE. THIS IS WHAT COMES OF SHOWERING” and I beat it, soggy and dripping out of harms way.
After a brief period of recovery (during which I watched the shower edge vigilantly…the only thing worse than a spider in the shower is a spider SOMEWHERE in a hotel room, there was no way I was going to lose track of it) I got my glasses to improve my odds and advanced upon her with murderous intent. (I know. I’m a pacifist, but I have just got to be able to use the bathroom.) As I stealthily peered over the edge to locate the enemy, I collapsed in relief.
It was hair. To add insult to injury, it was MY hair.
I was terrorized and humiliated by my own hair and stupidity. I swear. It’s a wonder I function at all.
Meeting knitters at RJ Julia.
Young knitters (note the even gender split again.)
Even more good:
Kate with a Rhode Island washcloth. (It’s got a lighthouse on it.)
Karen’s 1st sock.
So Bad it’s good:
Lisa outing Mandy’s 1st socks, which are, for once…about what you would expect in a first pair of socks, (they aren’t even the same size) and restoring my faith in normal 1st sock knitters.
More so Bad it’s Good:
Kimberly was caught with the proof that she was behind the great Boston Panty Incident.
Better than Good:
When Mary had to go to the hospital, as she was loaded into the ambulance, her husband yelled ” Which knitting bad do you want?”
(She’s really a woman after my heart.)
Also better than Good
The Tremendously Good:
Barbara the Hat lady with her haul
Arriving home and having one of my molars break, (I think it’s the shower/spider/hair incident that did it in) and incurring a fantastical dental bill that will mean that there is no yarn buying for quite some time to come. (There’s a temporary thingie on it to let me go to Halifax tomorrow)
Unpacking, washing my clothes and packing them again.
Unpacking, washing my clothes and packing again FOR HALIFAX. Dudes. I am stupid excited. ( And sort of stoned on the tooth drugs. Should make for a really fun time at the event tomorrow. If I can arse up my life this much straight, heaven only knows what will come of the drugged up version.) All you East Coasters…I’ll see you tomorrow!
PS. The bad.
Friends don’t let stoned friends knit a Kauni.
I arsed it up again. Orange where there should be green. There has got to be something simple in this house I can knit for a while.