I fell down. Hard. The yarn rep, Joan, who looks barely old enough to drive, let alone be a mom and a business woman (think 'Laine' from the "Gilmore Girls"... and you can practically go back to the first season with the reference), so I was completely enchanted when she walked through my door. I committed to some Classic Elite, including the new 'alpaca sox' and some gorgeous and squishy Berroco yarns. And Harriet, Melly, and me and my new favorite Chicagoan ate fried sweet potato chips, and fondled yarn, and teased the security system installer. The yarns mostly won't ship for a few weeks, so I have a bit of time to figure out the big questions like...
1.) Where will I be storing and displaying this yarn?
2.) How will I be getting this yarn to pay for itself?
3.) What was I thinking, opening a yarn and fabric store?
This would presume I'd already questioned myself as to why Self and I haven't been checked in to the nearest psychiatric facility, but I don't think anyone is paying attention, and Self assures me we would not like having our meds handed out so sparingly... and on a schedule. My inner me abhors schedules. Which is why, Melly-dear, the big honking calendar you made me fill out was such a terror to me. But the man is impressed with it, kinda like I'm really 'serious' about making a go of the shop-thingy, so a huge thank you for the shove in the general direction of... well, of being less slovenly and lazy about building a business. (insert big smoochy-sound here)
Okay, all that blather Bill did over on his 'pooplasagne' blog about being the new June Cleaver and all is a farce, though he had some nice pork chops ready when I got home. Oh, and the house looks pretty nice. But the littlest dude is still poopy (or has pooped, again) and so I'm off to fulfill my motherly duties. Have a great night y'all. And that falling down I did where I may have ordered a *lot* of yarn... keep it under your hat. Shhhhh. Cami