So, WEBS finally decided to deliver my yarn. So nice of them. I was hoping perhaps they’d try to redeem themselves for the lengthy shipping delay and lack of communication with, say, a coupon, perhaps, but nay. So I remain anti-WEBS, until further notice.
That said, the yarn itself is lovely. No photos yet, since I’m at work. For unknown reasons, I ordered 12 balls of the Elsebeth Lavold Classic AL—I only need 900 yds for Mrs. Darcy, so my reasoning here is a mystery. It’s quite soft (I know there are other yarn-y words people throw around like “drape” and “sheen,” but frankly, I don’t really know how one would assess these qualities, so until I become more learned, you get words like “soft” and “squishy.”). I also got 3 balls of each of Debbie Bliss Alpaca Silk, and Laines du Nord Cashsilk, which I’ll use for some smaller projects.
So that means I can spend a good chunk of this long weekend working on Mrs. Darcy! I knit the gauge swatch last night. Or, I should say, swatches. I don’t know why I do this to myself—the pattern calls for size 9 needles, I know I’m a tight knitter, yet I knit my gauge swatch with size 9 needles, only to discover that, yet again,16 stitches/20 rows = 3.5 inches, not 4. What’s the definition of insanity again? So I knit again with 10s and didn’t quite get 4 inches, but decided to block the swatch and see. I don’t want to go up any higher, I think it will be too airy, and I need a warm sweater for the subzero temps in my office year round.
And now, I have a delightful story for you direct from Our Nation’s Capital. It snowed here yesterday. Not a lot, but a single flake is enough to send the entire Metro area into a panic, so the amount is basically irrelevant. By the time I left work, it had switched to rain and sleet, and the sidewalks were covered with an inch of icy slush, and I knew that I would have a long, long trip home. I marched determinedly toward the Metro station, clutching my flimsy umbrella. Some biotch in an SUV had the nerve to honk at me while I crossed one street—I was NOT crossing against the signal, but I guess she decided that I, rain drenched and cold, was in her way, as she flew around town in a warm car. Grrr.
Finally, I get to the Metro and manage to get a seat. It stinks. More than usual. The whole train, that is. People are wet, and wet wool stinks. The train is overcrowded. People are cranky. The train is moving sloooooow because the rails are icy. And at about the 3rd stop, the fun begins.
A dad gets on the train with a stroller roughly the size of my car. A stroller weighed down with various childcare accessories, snacks, clothes—I can only assume dad and son were on their way to scale Mt. Everest and took a brief detour to DC to brighten my day.
Dad’s first mistake is that he didn’t get on at the end of the car where there’s more room for his SUV-sized child conveyence, he got on in the middle of the car, where there’s almost no extra space, and parked himself and the stroller directly in front of both doors on one side. Apparently the idea that someone at some point may want to get on or off the train didn’t occur to him. Nor, I assume, the fact that rolling this yacht onto the train in the middle of rush hour on a snowy day may not have been the wisest decision he ever made.
Kid immediately asks for a treat. From the depths of this stroller, dad hauls out the world’s largest lollipop and hands it to the kid, advising, “Lick it, don’t bite it.” Well, duh, kid immediately starts chomping on the lollipop. Dad and kid then proceed to get into an argument that goes something like this:
Dad, leaning over stroller: “I’m telling you to lick it, not bite it.”
Kid, shrieking: “And I’m telling you to go back!!!”
I would’ve gotten popped for that one!
Finally, dad has clearly lost this fight, so he shuts up. Then kid wants to know if dad brought the DVD player. Um, what? Oh, why yes, dad did bring it! Dad hauls a portable DVD player out of the stroller and pops it in front of the kid. Said DVD player is now the object of my wrath. On the DVD player? Wiggles. Wiggles, apparently, sing obnoxiously, and when they’re not singing, they’re making weird sound effects: alarms clocks ringing, something “boing”-ing around, and various other irritating buzzes and rings of indeterminate origin. Apparently the rule about no audio devices without headphones on Metro doesn’t apply to small children with obnoxious DVDs that NO ONE ELSE WANTS TO LISTEN TO AFTER WORKING ALL DAY AND TREKKING THROUGH THE ICE AND SLUSH TO GET ON THIS STUPID OVERCROWDED STINKY TRAIN AND GO HOME.
Finally, we reach blessed Ft. Totten, where I switch lines. But no, there must be one more ridiculous irritation. As people get off, someone wants to let dad sit down, which, frankly, is a stupid idea because it would be physically impossible for the stroller to fit in the space in front of this seat. But dad and other Metro patron stand around chatting pleasantly about this, blocking up the entire aisle and trapping a line of grumpy passengers pushing and shoving behind them.
Dear Lord, if I ever pop out a kid, please, please don’t let my common sense pop out with it!