A few weeks ago I found out that
Stace is pregnant and I immediately began the crochet schematic; a production schedule had to be established... materials had to be estimated and appraised... I had to find a baby blanket on clearance at Babies R Us for my brother's first child due in June... shit had to be taken care of. I have responsibilities.
I'm not bragging here when I tell you that I've been crocheting for almost twenty-five years, since I was six years old. And the
reason I'm not bragging is because I suck at it righteously. My mom taught me on this thick wad of pink yarn, and my uncoordinated brain and stick fingers fucked with it and fucked with it and fucked with it until I had a filthy pink triangle potholder. My mom laughed at me then the same way she laughs at me now, only with less vodka. And less mom.
A History of Fucked Up Crochet, Exhibit One
