Wool shop angst

Am trying my best to wrap up projects for the year including my beautiful crocheted blanket.

Let me just pause to point out here that I am using the word "beautiful" to substitute a litany of swear words I use to describe this blanket but am trying to be the epitome of zen now that I have 364 days before 40.

I saw a picture of the blanket in a magazine. After two glasses of wine I thought: "I can do this." Uncharacteristically I didn't start off in a rush and realised halfway that I will need double the IQ, tripple the charm and about four times the dexterity to finish it. I read the pattern. I thought it sounded easy. I went to buy a conservative amount of cotton yarn for it. It all started so well...

When I ran out of wool I was quite proud of me - went back to the wool shop - regular readers will remember this as the hotbed of octagenarian gossip, discussions about love, the occassional ladylike scuffle over 100% cotton yarn and the Sewende Laan like dramas over men with their own hips.

So I went back to the wool shop for another conservative amount of cotton yarn. The lady at the counter looked at me curiously. "Did you underestimate the amount of yarn you will need?"she asks peering over her glasses. "Yes," I said. "Give me the pattern that I can work out how much you will still need," she kindly offered.

An offer, I couldn't take up as I made, what seemed to be a mortifying mistake, no knowing how many little blocks I had done. "Not nearly enough," it turns out is not the correct answer.

So, to be on the safe side, I thought I added a few more skeins of yarn and off I went happily thinking I will finish my project.

By the third time I had to go back for more wool, I was hearing James Bond music in my mind, walking into the store with my sunglasses on buying a few other colours of yarn just to throw the judgmental yarn-mistress off my tracks. It didn't work.

"What!" she exclaimed. "You still not done? Are you crocheting a tent?"

Normally I would have mumbled something here about having a full time job, needing to go to gym as to support the chocolate habit, must at least attempt a social life, having a book that needs editing, have four geese that needs regular reprimanding, a crazy bird who must be fed and thanked for pecking at every window of the house, a lovely mongoose who needs apples and conversation and having recently conquered insomnia so now not crocheting at 3 am in the morning anymore. The new zen me with less than 365 days to go to 40 however does not make excuses anymore, so I just smiled. I want to add that I wish I was crocheting a tent at this stage as my efforts still only managed to produce what can only be described as a small blanket.

Unfortunately this spurred her on to more condemnation. "Please bring me the pattern that I can work out how much yarn you need! And go count how many blocks you have done!"

By the fourth time that I needed wool, I just gave up. Told my one 75 year old friend I will buy her a chocolate milkshake  if she will go buy yarn for me. She did it beautifully.

Bribery and corruption clearly is the only way to go.