A rustic, bearded manly-man sort of person came into the shop today and announced — in a matter-of-fact tone — that his wife had been in last week to purchase supplies for knitting a scarf. And … he wants to join her.
Be still my beating heart. You want to join her? As in, you and your wife are doing a knit-a-long? The way I filled with a combination of both joy and envy, well, it’s just downright embarrassing. I piped up with a comment about how my husband builds shelves for my yarn, which isn’t quite the same but still a contribution to the cause (all the while thinking, what would it take to get my husband to try knitting?).
It all sounded so idyllic for about two minutes. Oh the glories of yarn shopping with my husband. Oh the thrill of his approving glances. Sharing yarn. Sharing needles…
Wait.
Sharing yarn? Sharing needles?
First of all, sharing needles is dangerous. (Imagine if your partner lost one of your Signature Needle Arts Stilettos? DANGER. I rest my case.)
Second, I have enough trouble with people eating my honey Greek yogurt and losing my scissors. If I start letting another person dig around in my yarn stash it might trigger the decline of polite society in my home.
Now I just feel sad for the woman with the scarf project whose husband will be joining her, because — assuming he likes it (and why wouldn’t he?) — she may have to start sharing. And I’m just not a big enough person to agree to that.
