You Gotta Know When to Hold 'Em....

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It was probably the last snowstorm of the season. Perfect knitting weather. Which means that I definitely have a need for a LOT of yarn.

And a die-hard knitter must sometimes be resourceful....

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The 12 Worst Things I Have Done To Get Knitting Yarn:

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1. I have lied.

And I don't mean fibbing to Blaine about whether or not I sneaked some pureed leftovers into the meatloaf, but shameless, bald-face lying.

Doesn't everybody put things in their meatloaf they would prefer not to divulge? It stretches your ground meat to go further and uses up leftover food---and I believe that wasting leftovers is an absolute sin. But Blaine abhors leftovers---and he further abhors leftovers sneaked into his meatloaf. But I am a Champion Food Disguiser, and I defy any attempt at detecting leftovers in my tasty meatloaf...

But about the lying -- yes, I know that lying is BAD. But when Blaine asked me to "make up some excuse" about why we couldn't attend a Saturday social event because what he really wanted to do was upgrade his computer..... well, let's just say that I "carpe diemed" the situation.

(Or is it carpe yarnum'ed?)

"Sure I'll call the Smiths and say I've got a headache, Blaine---and, um.... whaddaya say we stop at the yarn store on the way home from the computer store, eh?"

(And what Blaine doesn't know I added to the meatloaf won't hurt him...)

Where was I?

Oh yes, the bad things I've done to get yarn...

2. I have feigned depression.

"Sigh... I'm so blue.... if only I had some new yarn to cheer me up!" , said multiple times, morosely, while wandering around trying to look wan...

And then if that doesn't work, continuing to sigh loudly while holding my shaky little hand to my weak little heart for about three or four more hours, until Blaine thinks he'll go nuts if he has to listen to it one minute more and becomes ready to do just about ANYTHING to shut me up...

And if THAT doesn't work, one can always resort to one's Southern Roots and stamp one's foot while yelling loud codicils in a Southern Accent such as: "Damnation! I'm gonna die deadern' a doornail if I don't get no DADGUM NEW YARN!"

This used to work until Blaine caught on to my tricks--- and so once, when I had made some other outrageous lyin' exclamation in a southern accent, he was prepared---and just as quickly retorted back with a Southern Saying in an outrageous imitation of a southern accent: "You'll go to hell for lyin' just as fast as fer stealin' chickens, ya idgit!"

(I was so shocked that I was dumbstruck for eight hours and never did get any damn yarn.)

3. I've baked homemade bread for Blaine.

Now, baking bread isn't necessarily a so-called "bad" thing to do for yarn, but something tells me that it isn't very charitable to do it while carelessly slinging bread pans around the kitchen while loudly singing "The Things We Do For Love" but substituting the word "Yarn" for "Love".

4. I have used flattery and baby-talk while humbly agreeing with whatever fool thing Blaine says BEFORE asking if the budget can take another "yarn hit".

"Why, you are so right, my snookie wookums---I definitely do think that [insert name of Blaine's favorite political figure here] is doing a wonderful job--- and how politically ASTUTE you are!" even though I think that Blaine's favorite political figure is an idiot, scoundrel, criminal, drunk, or con-man/woman.

5. I have refrained from gloating whenever the television news subsequently shows Blaine's favorite political figure getting arrested, indicted, lampooned on Saturday Night Live, scandalously "revealed" in 'The National Enquirer", pulled over for drunk driving, or labeled a pinhead on 'The O'Reilly Factor'. (See No. 4 above.)

6. I have "buttered" Blaine up for a solid week by allowing him to choose the TV channels we watch in the evenings--- and then silently suffered through a week's worth of "The Outer Limits", "Star Trek Enterprise", "Ghosthunters", Smallville", "Chuck", and old re-runs of "Histories Mysteries" that we've seen umpty-leven times.

7. I have actually hidden most of my yarn stash so that it appears that I have very little yarn---and, thus, need more.

This backfired on me once when I asked Blaine to help me search for the heating pad--- and he found it next to a sack of Cascade 220 yarn under the clean towels, right next to a box of hideously ugly "Peter Rabbit" Easter napkin rings his mother had given us that I had lied and said I had lost. (See No. 1 about lying above.)

8. I have used strong willpower to refrain from complaining about Blaine's mother's constant harping that I "don't contribute" to the household expenses because I am currently not employed----even though I once supported Blaine by working overtime after the first time he got layed off from a job.

(She also makes negative comments about my cooking every SINGLE frigging time I have ever cooked something for her--- and she STILL tells people that I don't know how to "operate" an electric stove simply because she caught me using a little saucepan on the big burner.)

(Once when I was making my famous turkey croquettes and creamed pea sauce for a big family dinner, I ominously remarked to Blaine that if "that flibbertigiblet" made one snide comment about my damn croquettes that I would absolutely "go postal"---and Blaine had the audacity to sass me back by snapping "The term is 'flibberti-gib-bet', Bo.")

(But I got the last word, ho ho, when I retorted right back that I had actually MEANT to use the word 'flibbertigiblet' because "a damn giblet is part of a turkey"....)

Where was I again?

Oh yes--- back to the bad things I've done for yarn...

9. I have exaggerated my yarn "needs".

"Why yes, honey, although it's true that I have plenty of worsted weight yarn, I don't have all the needed colors for my psychedelic Pinwheel Sweater. I still need some puce, ochre, periwinkle and cadmium yellow..."

(By the time we go get the yarn, he will have forgotten which colors I listed above.....)

10. I have resorted to heavy-duty bargaining.

"Hey honey, what's it worth to you if I clean out the garage and put all your tools back in your tool box?"

(This was really an unfair bargain because I knew full well that Blaine was so desperate to avoid doing that chore himself that he would be willing to buy me the entire contents of a yarn store in return for me doing it--- but all's fair in love and yarnfare, right?...)

11. I have faked being a good sport about Blaine's rudeness.

Every now and then I knit a pair of house socks that are really bizarre-looking--- even for my own technicolor standards--- and when Blaine looks at them and involuntarily blurts out something like: "Good Lord, you really ARE sick in the head!" , then restraint is most definitely called for...

...in order to prevent some violent action which would cause Blaine's next comments to be muffled by the manual placement of said pair of house socks....

And the 12th Worst Thing I've Ever Done For Yarn:

12. I have ... well... bluffed.

"Oh my GOD, honey! Worsted yarn is ON SALE over at the so-and-so store! So we had better hurry up and buy a TON of it because IT WILL NEVER BE THAT PRICE AGAIN!"

(Okay, so it wasn't really on sale and I was just 'psyching' Blaine into thinking that he'd "save" money by buying the yarn right then for a "sale" price rather than losing money later by buying it at "regular price". But like I said, it IS the 12th worst thing I've done for yarn....)

Actually, if I was totally truthful, I would have to admit that I am a skilled bluffer. If cornered, I can bluff so convincingly that it frightens me. In another life I was probably a professional poker player.

I don't know where I learned my bluffing skills so proficiently except that it may have been born out of necessity during the infamous Wine Episode in my 20's, when I was very desperate and had resorted to bluffing in order to avoid disaster.

(And forgive me if I've told this story before, but I definitely believe it was this particular incident which heralded my successful bluffing career.)

Wine Episode Bluff Story:

Back in my salad days I used to drink inexpensive wine in the evenings after work, a habit for which I was endlessly ridiculed by my then-boyfriend, a hoity toity lawyer who was a total wine-snob. He only drank what he called "decent wine" , and he frequently declared that I was a total "bumpkin" for drinking cheap wine.

(I liked good wine as much as the next person, but I drank inexpensive wine because my budget wasn't as flexible as his lawyer salary allowed---but the blockhead never considered that fact and I was too timid to defend myself.)

Anyhoo, one night after work I ran out of my own cheap wine. And, for various reasons (including the fact that it was raining, and finding a parking place in downtown Washington, D.C. is nigh on impossible), I decided not to go to the liquor store for more wine.

Instead.... I did a bad thing.

I poured the contents of the very last bottle from a case of my boyfriend's expensive wine---it was a particular vintage of a Rothschild Mouton Cadet --- into one of my empty $8.79 "Gallo" bottles....

(Personally, I think Mouton Cadet is only a mediocre wine, but he worshiped the stuff. )

And then I went about my evening, enjoying my wine while waiting for my boyfriend to come home. I convinced myself that he probably wouldn't remember how many bottles he had opened from that case of Mouton Cadet since he only opened a bottle of it once in a blue moon.

So anyway, he finally came home from his lawfirm and sat down to relax and watch some TV with me. And then....to my utter mortification.....he made a statement which I thought I'd never hear him utter.

"Don't faint, Bo," he chuckled, "But I think I might pour myself some of your crappy wine."

Horrified, I died a thousand deaths as he ambled to the frig to get the wine. I died another thousand deaths while he was pouring himself a glass. And then I died another thousand deaths as he triumphantly brought his wine glass into the living room and settled back into his chair, smiling at me cheerily.

Sweating profusely, I began preparing my apology in my head---and I knew it would have to be a damn good one. In fact, I knew it would have to be the most groveling, pathetic, subservient, humble, and mercy-begging apology I would ever need in my whole sorry, wine-stealing life.....

...and he threw me a comical look while taking that first sip --- then smacked his lips with gusto....

I waited what seemed like an eternity for his reaction---and the subsequent shouted accusations of my criminal behavior to come....

And I wondered fleetingly if I could distract him by spontaneously jumping up and declaring that I was now going to perform The Dance Of The Seven Veils while stark nekkid without any veils--- but then I realized that it was too late, because the damnable wine had already passed his wine-snob's palate and gone down his gullet.......

..and then.....

...suddenly...

His eyes flew open wide and he visibly perked up----and seemed to struggle to speak....

"Oh dear JESUS!" he finally exclaimed loudly.

"I know, I know...." I murmured haltingly, "and believe me---I am so truly very sorry....."

"I just can't believe it!" he sputtered, accidentally spitting wine at me in his flabbergastation.

"Please don't be too angry...." I whined, lowering my head in shame.

"You always told me but I never believed it!" he stated, stupidly staring at his wine glass, then taking another sip just to be sure of what he was tasting...

What the?...

And then he continued, almost delirious with glee, "You always told me that your cheap wine was 'just as good' as my expensive wine--- but I never believed it! Until NOW!"

And he started gulping down that stupid wine like it was water, joyfully slurping what he thought was cheap wine--- when it was really his beloved Mouton Cadet.

And... well... I couldn't resist....

"Told you so," I said with a martyr-like expression.

"God, I've simply GOT to tell the other partners about this stuff...." he muttered to himself.

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Epilogue:

Oh yeah --- that's the Wine Episode --- but I forgot to to tell you about The Bluffing part.

It was a few months later....

And my boyfriend decided to celebrate something. Sure enough, he ceremoniously went to retrieve the "last" bottle of the ill-fated Mouton Cadet---which, of course, was now empty.

He wasn't fooled for a moment.

"You...you.... WINE THIEF!" he bellowed, fruitlessly scattering empty Mouton Cadet bottles hither and yon in an effort to find the last undrunk bottle. "Did you steal my last bottle of Mouton Cadet?!!"

(Is "undrunk" a word?)

"I most certainly did not," I replied flatly, quickly deciding in my head that I was tired of his snobbery and that I was most certainly NOT going to go down for this caper since he was being such a Neanderthal about it.....

"Yes you did--- I know you DID!" he exclaimed, brandishing an empty bottle under my nose. "You guzzled my GOOD WINE!"

"I can't believe it," I replied solemnly, with what I hoped was a crushed look on my angelic face. "You must have forgotten. Oh, how typical for a man."

"Oh, don't try any of your shenanigans with ME!" he harped, even though I could see some faint confusion coming over his face....

"For shame, you forgot our wonderful night --- that special night when you opened the wine!" I continued, almost astonished at the ease which the bluffing statements flew out of my mouth. "It was the first time you ever told me you loved me! And you can't remember it!"

(In the back of my mind I was beginning to wonder if I would go to hell for bluffing...)

"Uh...wait a minute," he mumbled, struggling to remember--- frightened that he couldn't.

"See? You don't remember!" I replied with a little sob, going for the jugular. "You must have been drunk that night and just told me that you loved me to get lucky! Oh, how cruel! And here I thought it was the happiest night of my life!"

(Maybe I could convert to Catholicism and do some sort of "penance" for bluffing???)

"Now hold on a minute," he said hastily. "I do remember.... uh.... wasn't it that night we went to the Old Ebbit Grill? Yes, that's it! Of course I remember, sweety!"

And then he added--- just to be sure I was convinced---

"Forgive me, babe--- it's been a long day at work. I'm such a dimwit. It was definitely me who opened that bottle."

(And no, I didn't offer him a glass of my cheap crap.....)

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