So, in the last few days, I've been working feverishly on Little Mister's Blanket-o-Love. So feverishly, in fact, that I've gotten quite sick. No, not of the *cough*cough*I'm gonna die!* variety, but of the *holy moly*I want to crochet something else now* variety.
I'm almost done. This is good because good golly, Miss Molly, I can't wait to be done with it. I know that I'm getting itchy to do something else because I'm spending a huge chunk of time on Ravelry looking at shawl patterns and randomly taking out my lace and sock yarns and petting them in a way that makes My Mister a little jealous.
Why shawls? I don't wear them, so why make them? Because in my head I'm a raging fashionista with a long cigarette holder and huge bug-like sunglasses and say things like, "Oh, dahling," and, "Chip chip cheerio," and other random British stereotypical phrases while effortlessly tossing a shawl end over my shoulder and laughing a coquettish trilling, "Oh haha, dahling!" way instead of a, "BAHAHAHAHAHA! *snort*" way.
Could this highly improbable vision of myself be due to watching Downton Abbey last week and episodes of Agatha Christie's Poirot and Miss Marple this weekend while I slave away on my blanket? NO!! And get out of my head, Freud!
*stupid yet awesome British shows* *sulking*
I am really almost done and instead of getting a few more rows completed this evening, I've succumbed to the allure of my stash and have started a new project that had been swirling in my mind for a while. I'm both excited and ashamed of myself. As My Mister said, "You need to finish this project sometime!" Except my overly sensitive and slightly neurotic ears heard, "YOU BETTER GET THAT YARN MOUNTAIN OUT OF OUR LIVING ROOM NOW, WOMAN!"
Granted, he said that after I started hyperventilating because I thought there was a mistake 10 rows down and was about to rip them out again. His well timed verbal slap in my face brought me back to my senses and I realized that I was fretting over nothing. My work is perfect and all is right with the world.
Hopefully I'll FINALLY have some pics to share by this weekend. Crossing fingers they'll be of Little Mister's blanket and not of some really awesome addition to my shawl UFO pile.
Where's my hot toddy, O'brien?! And some petrol for my lorry? The raaain in Spaaain fauls gently on the plaaain. G'night, guvnah!