It's good, but gets worse...

Today I managed to thwart the forces of non-knitting (aka 'evil') with some non-Clap sockish type knitting... in my pajamas. All day. No bra, no shower, just knitting. No cooking, no cleaning, just series television on DVDs, Herr Becher's banging taco dip, and the 'Mockery' sock. I had to haul it into the bathroom for a late evening photo-op. It wanted to sit on the sink, but after putting pink in Lillian's hair and 'vampire red' in Madeleine's, the sink wasn't a viable option. I shortened the ribbing to ten rounds, and went 1x1 instead of 2x2, but everything else in the same... this is Shibui sock yarn, purchased on our Harlot-stalking trip this spring. So far, I adore this pattern, and will be knitting it again in a 'shaded solid' from the freezer stash.

Now, every once in a while I've been known to put up a picture of a creepy-crawlie. The other day, Herr Becher hollered "you have to see this" from the depths of the basement. He also mentioned I should maybe bring the camera along, and then told Joe to grab the ruler out of his math book. I stayed a good two feet from it, and in the lower shot, the ruler is not touching the wall, but is about four inches away (the man would not get any closer, even when I called him a nancy-boy). Also, I have to mention here that we pay for a service, so that our house won't be infested with crawlies. Mr. Foster (our certified bug-man) did in fact tell me that to off spiders, he'd have to 'bomb' the house. For someone with my level of OCD, what this actually means is I'd have to scrub every surface, every drawer and cabinet, every piece of furniture, wash every piece of fabric, have the draperies dry-cleaned, the window screens replaced, and repaint the entire interior of my house, just to not freak about the poisonous residues clinging to everything. Or, I can take creepy pictures, spin on my heel, and carry my fat little bum back up the basement stairs, away from this hand-sized critter who, not surprisingly, won the bet. We did not, and still do not, possess the cajones to mash this thing. A little voice in my head said that it's probably eating things I really don't want to see... so we left it, with it's little, glinty eye, alone.

My only regret is that I used to think the things that went 'bump' in the night were just the cat, but I've given myself photographic proof otherwise. This is also why I've banned the dust-ruffle. No sense giving the crawlies an express lane into the bed. Ick. I'm off to launch another load of towels into the wash, and knit six more rounds of 'Mockery'.