G. Knerd

So there was a sale at my favorite yarn store last weekend (starting on Thursday).  If it had just been me, I likely would have been strong enough to stay away from the building altogether.

But I also have friends, and these friends are wonderfully effective enablers.

My goal was to go with them to the store, support their yarn choices, help them figure out how much yarn they would need and whether it would work for whatever pattern they were picturing.  Maybe, maybe, pick up some fiber to use with my spinning wheel (because I actually don’t have any fiber at home, having spun it all into yarn I haven’t used yet).  And then we were going to go out to a fabulous dinner.

That…didn’t exactly happen.  Well, the fabulous dinner happened, with great company of course, and I did give some assistance with yarn choices.  But the part where I abstained from the yarn…

Not so much.

That’s right, I managed to buy ten – ten! – balls of yarn.  When I was trying to buy zero.  I’m still unclear about how, exactly that happened.  I think I might have had the proverbial falling-down-and-magically-swiping-my-credit-card-on-the-way-down experience.  Just about the only thing I have figured out about all of this?

I really just can’t go to yarn stores anymore.  The wool fumes are too strong, I just can’t help myself.