F-f-f-freezing P-p-pub C-c-crawl

So, with all the subsequent exhaustion and having to wash and rewash all the clothing that got stunk up with bar smell, I've been slow to post these pics. I just e-mailed them to The Thimbleanna as well, because, as I've mentioned before, the chirruns of Becher Haus are computer hogs and I'm plainly outnumbered when it comes to trying to get 'dibs'.

Here's a 'Wilson' shot taken at the Willard. Only two of us were daring enough to drag our knitting inside, but what's a knitterly pub crawl without a scarf (Thimbleanna) and a sock (moi)? Sure, everything reeks of cigarette smoke, but that's what Soak Wash is for. Seen here, left to right, is The Junie, The Jules Jewels, and The Thimbleanna. I think I'll forever refer to them that way. Like rock stars. The Jewels requires adult supervision. She's a handful of crafty vixen. I taught her a new cuss word. If you know her, ask to hear it. It's funny as hell to hear her say it!

Rob is a bitty thing. This photo showcases that little truth pretty well. It also shows you how well I react to subzero temps. I still have cramps in my neck from trying to stand still for the photo while my teeth tried to rattle themselves into rubble. If I could have just pulled my shoulders into my ears, rather than just near them, I might have been warmer. That alpaca scarf was pretty much useless, so my previous claims that alpaca is warmer than wool appear to have been just hyperbole. Dirty, rotten liar. I'm now going to be hunting down much warmer fibers... cashmere, perhaps?

The cast of characters in this photo is Melly (tall girl), Rob (short girl), Thimbleanna (blonde girl), and me (scrunched up frozen girl). Our photographer was this wee bit of cuteness right here...

The No-Amy. She's super-cute, no? Noemi had an appointment the very next day to have the purple put back in her hair, so you're not getting the full impact of her hotness, but here she is, listening intently to The Jewels telling us a shocking tale. Or perhaps we were eyeing up the college-age bartender. Dunno. The gin had me a little dizzy.
There are new rules about knitting pub crawls in place now. 1.) No letting Melly drag us to karaoke night at John Wayne's Pub. I still have the world's worst rendition of "Behind Closed Doors" stuck in my head, though hearing Melly sing was fabulous... we just had to endure about twenty-five Really Bad Singers to get to her beautiful voice. 2.) Pub-crawling shall cease to be a winter activity. The next one won't happen until we can sit out in the beer gardens dotting the town. And finally, 3.) All participants will be required to at least hold knitting in their lap, or drape it artfully over their shoulder.

Now I need more decaf and a hot shower. Today is Get Caught Up On Everything day. I'm wiped out just thinking about it, but Herr Becher's parents arrive tomorrow. Slacker daughter-in-law has much to atone for. Latah, knittas. C