Not Knitting And The Permanent Damage to Your Whole Life.

knit one

My family tried to put me in a knitting cult once.  I think they thought I needed some direction being as I had knitted a 3.7 mile “scarf” and had failed several interventions to get me to cast off.  They even brought in a local woman’s group from some church basement.

They failed too.

I did appreciate the home baked cookies and tea though and I made some swell friends.  You can never have too many “grandma’s” to hang out with.

My family even tried to give me a  “gift certificate” to join a politically motivated women’s knitting group at a local college.  I went to the information night.   Well, I use the term “went” rather loosely because I attended with one of the bigger women from the church group who scared me a lot.  She had hairy arms, almost a full moustache and no real definition between her breasts and 3 bellys.  She could probably wrestle a Mac truck and win.  I don’t think she had bathed since Jesus left the earth.  I “went” willingly once the cuffs were locked on.

They told me I would be knitting to “reclaim our womanhood.” (office staff could sing We Shall Overcome while channelling Helen Reddy and I am Woman)  They showed me pictures of important women like Mother Theresa, Cleopatra, Madam Curie, and Madonna . . . all with knitting needles.  (it was a couple of years before Photoshop but the crayola etchings were pretty good).    The inference was that knitting was the doorway to greatness.

I am not sure Madonna was using her knitting needles for slippers or moose sweaters but the feminists are actually more attached to their delusions illusions than the church ladies.

I might have been more convinced if they had thrown in some pictures of people like John Kennedy, Einstein or Batman..  Then it would seem like the power was in the knitting, not that women, who were awesome, happened to also knit.  And who knows, those women might have just been holding the needles for some elderly person who lost their teeth and were just out of the picture, on the ground looking for them.

They had big plans to have us grow our own wool, organically harvest it and then to knit ourselves a rocket to fly to the moon.  I looked around and realized most of the women there looked exactly like the woman I was attached to, just at different stages in their lives.  Like some of them only had 2 stomachs, and some had bathed in the last decade and some only  had 3 or 4 hairs hanging from their chins.

I gnawed off my hand in the cuff and escaped during the tribute to belly clogging which was accompanied by a woman playing the bagpipe … at least I think she had a bag pipe .. hard to tell with all those bellies.

My family continually tells me the reason I will never be great is because I was so unwilling to do the very things other great women had done to be great.  They gave me the chance and I was just too lazy to do the required work or to recognize what an incredible opportunity I had been given.  In other words, I blew off the whole knitting to save the world-a-thon.

I pointed out that it is pretty hard to knit with one hand.

They said I had not even tried to use my teeth or perhaps my two good feet.

I pointed out that they were assholes.

That was pretty much where we left things . . .

That’s it.

You can weep now for me.  Or you can bid on a 3.7 mile scarf I just posted on ebay, not even cast off yet.  I left that magic for the buyer.

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