Robin woke me up at 3:30 AM and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t eat dinner so I decided to eat a ham and cheese and Dorito sandwich. Don’t judge–there is something immensely satisfying about smushing chips in your sandwich and hearing that crunch.
I am working on the heels of the Mr.’s socks and Boris is sitting with me. In my head, I thought “I’m knitting with my cat” and then laughed at myself, wondering how I would actually utilize the cat to knit. The closest thing in my head was using his arms as knitting needles. I guess you had to be there. You know, in my head.
He’s not really much help, but he does keep me company.
FYI, Boris has never been a jerk when it comes to knitting and yarn. He will play with yarn if I initiate it, but the cartoonish image of him stealing a ball of yarn and batting it around the room until it’s a jumbled mess has never happened. That’s too undignified for him.
There you have it. I’m officially 92 years old and alone, knitting away with my cat at my side. At least until the kids wake up.