I truly intended to post last night, but an additional two children added up to a whole lot of mayhem. Firstly, and without further hesitation, I shall introduce you all to Sven!
gorgeous alpaca lace weight from a high shelf. As I strained in vain on tippy toes, arm extended to its utmost length, a hand swooped over my head, and seized this (the last skein of natural). What nerve! I turned to confront whomever had the audacity to steal my coveted yarn only to discover a handsome young man smiling back. He handed me the yarn. I sheepishly thanked him as he continued on to a display of Baby Ull sock yarn.
Pardon me, but I must digress here. A further beg of your pardon is requested for referring to social stereotypes. Usually men in knitting stores fall into one of two categories. First there are Slinkers, sometimes of the Whipped variety, and second are Gay Men.
We’ve all seen Slinkers before, spotting them is simple! Just look for the slouching man dejectedly standing in the shadowy corner of the yarn store trying to render himself invisible. Slinkers don’t give a rat’s arse about the benefits of superwash or pattern relationships to yarn. When prompted, Slinkers sometimes mutter insincere or just downright awful opinions regarding color and fiber choices. Slinkers enjoy a trip to a LYS about as much as a prostate exam. Many Slinkers formerly belonged to the minority Whipped Slinker variety. Rather than lurking near doors or in corners, Whipped Slinkers dutifully follow their significant others throughout the store. They often carry the yarn and even feign interest in knitting progress.
Just as easy to spot is the Gay Man. A Gay Man boldly inspects new fibers, browses patterns and when asked will deliver honest and valuable opinions. GM are not afraid to sit and chat with the store owner while expertly knitting a pair of argyle socks. Fair warning about approaching the Gay Man Yarn Shopper though, many of these men possess an intimidating amount of talent. Obviously Sven fell into the latter category. He lingered in the sock yarn section, picking up first one solid color and then another. He had to be planning some sort of colorwork.
Curiosity got the better of me so I positioned myself next to him and inquired about his intended project. He revealed that his plan was to recreate a pair of Fair Isle mittens from an old pattern that had belonged to his grandmother. The problem was that the pattern was written in Swedish and he does not speak Swedish. We enjoyed quite an interesting conversation.
I have no idea how old Sven is, but my best guess is that he’s between 30 and 35 years old. He’s approximately 6′ tall and he possesses the most amazing blue eyes. His hair was probably blond during his youth, but it’s now a dishwater or light brown color and it’s military short. I tried not to notice his physique, but he would definitely warrant an entry on Dave’s AWW! Oh, and it turns out he’s not gay. He’s also not involved in a long-term relationship.
The second time I met Sven was when he came over for an afternoon of coffee and knitting. He brought his fair isle mittens in progress AND some freshly made brownies! The blue and white yarns he chose really sett off the mitten pattern beautifully. His stitches were neat and even, but these are a slow knit for him. Personally, I can’t walk and chew bubblegum at the same time so I just worked on a dishrag while he patiently worked on his mitten.
The only problem with knitting dishrags is that the cotton yarn makes my hands ache and cramp. At one point I set down my knitting and Sven, noticing that I was holding my right hand with my left, picked up my right hand and massaged it to get the cramps out.
STOP! This is Bonny, a.k.a., the sensible kitty. My owner has completely lost all grasp on reality. I know that she’s been working everyday and is tired in the evenings, but lately she’s taken to talking to herself while knitting! She has an imaginary knitting friend named Sven! I think it’s because nobody else in the house gives a rat’s patootie about knitting, spinning or anything else fibery. In my attempt to make her feel more important I’ve “helped” her lots this week.
First there was this really long stocking thingy she’s been creating.
I helped her block the lace. Supervising her while she used pointy objects seemed prudent and I’m nothing, if not responsible.
Here are some more pictures of the sock, which I find woefully lacking in kitty hair. You can clicky on them to biggify. Fair warning though, 40 year old legs can be scary to view up close.
She has indeed started the second sock, but as she’s attempting to use her own written instructions, it’s taking more time than it should. Said directions were scribbled down hastily while knitting the first sock. Might I just add that even though I lack opposible thumbs I write neater than she does. IF (notice it’s a big if) the directions make sense then she’ll probably share them. People wouldn’t need socks if they were just furry like us kitties. Poor, naked creatures.
Another evening activity she enjoyed was spinning. As the wheel whirred around hypnotically she occasionally muttered Sven’s name and giggled. I’m so embarrassed to admit this, but I have to tell someone. She drooled. Yup, you heard me right. Spittle formed in the corner of her mouth, pooled there and eventually dribbled down her chin. Talk about disgusting! Dogs drool.
With the newly spun yarn she began knitting a shawl for her oldest daughter. It looked terrible! Because “Sven” was too polite to tell her the truth I had no choice but to help her frog it. I had to use my teeth and everything.
My kitty sister, Tasha, is feeling poorly and she’s slept through this whole invisabuddy ordeal. This is a good thing too because I doubt her old heart could have withstood the stress. What if our human gets lost in a state of delusion and forgets to feed me us? Being a kitty is an exhausting and thankless job!