I was just reading, in the latest David Sedaris novel (see sidebar if you're interested), about a friend and the mother of his friend who both had a worm poke through their skin--on separate occasions--while they lived in the Congo. I'm not sure what kind of worm it was that poked out, because I'm not that far through the chapter, but it sounds sort of gross to me.
Thing is, the real detail of the story says that one of the worms poked out of one of the victim's legs, and I suppose I can handle that, in theory. But on a slightly different topic--and I use the words "slightly different topic" loosely--I heard from the make-up gal from my photo shoot for the You-Know, Gigi, tell an almost entirely different account of a worm, and friends, brace yourselves, but know that this tale has a lot to do with the theme of the post and you must, you must, read through even though you might be prone to a bit of a stomach ache because if you have any knowledge at all of your yarn *just finding* itself onto your front doorstep or into your closet or pocket, or bag, or basement, or whatever unfilled vessel that resides in or near your home, then you will have to brace yourselves and read on. Trust me. (Nonetheless, this might be your ace in the pocket when explaining to your significant other where the heck all that yarn came from.)
So, after a few days with all of us together a year ago during the shoot, Gigi remarked that she had a French friend-of-a-friend who had a parasite. (Not sure if he were French, to tell you the truth, but let's just go with my story the way it is; otherwise, I will have to call her and I don't have her business card handy.)
She said to me, while we were under some sort of a large rectangular umbrella, that she was told that one of her friend-of-a-friends went to the toilet awhile back, looked down toward his behind, and there was a big worm-ish item looping up and looking back up at him. Literally staring at him. Not sure if the worm-item said "bonjour" or screamed, however...
Then, that man, her friend-of-a-friend, he hopped up off the stool and proceeded to run away from himself. In circles. And for all she knows, he's still running away from himself. I will say, however; she did remark that she and her friends drank a lot of wine while discussing the whole event so I'm not sure if he ran in circles or just ran straight ahead.
That's how I feel about all the yarn that has arrived at my front door in the recent days/weeks/whathaveyou.
Too. Much. Yarn. I have ordered and reordered and reordered, and Elann.com now knows when to send me stuff by Fuzzy Logic instead of me ordering the old-fashioned way, by internet. All I have to do these days is answer the door.
So, in my defense, and recalling the premise of the Congo worms and that particular tape-kind that just happened to climb out that guy's behind and proceeded to chase him around the room: Let's just say that, first, I'm not sure how the yarn got here in the first place, and second: I stand by my story that it must be some sort of virus, or maybe I travel too much and have some sort of yarn worm.
And just so you know that yarn up top: Scout custom dyed this yarn for me. It is an amazing washable sock weight that is destined to be a little shrug. I said I loved the Crayola Cornflower Blue and the Robin's Egg Blue color crayons and asked if she could blend them into something wonderful. The item I want to make is the shrug from this month's Knitty. It's called Sheltand Shorty. I cannot wait to cast on. If you are dying for some fingering weight yarn for the same pattern, you now know who to call.
P.S. I have two patterns in the latest Knitscene, the one that will hit newstands and book stores in the next few weeks. Go check them out!