I am a dolt and other stories

To reinforce the idea that I am a complete and utter idiot, what do I do in the previous post? Yes, that's right. Make a stupid error. This time it's the fact that my cone is mahogany, not mulberry. Mulberry is what I'm working the shawl in. Duh.

To distract you from my idiocy, I'll dazzle you with a picture of my handspun.

Tah dah! Are you sufficiently dazzled yet? This (thank god) really does go from lace to cobweb weight as I had anticipated. It's about 250 metres of it too. *wipes brow* I took the neon orange and the bubblegum pink, both colours that I shudder to look at, and plied them together. The result is a mellower peachy orange colour.

And in an amazing feat of 'sometimes dumb animals do learn from their mistakes,' I took my singles and I plied them on my wheel. I remembered that plying a 129 metre skein on my spindle nearly killed me for the lack of mental stimulation last time. So I took my singles, looked at the spindle and thought, "No, Brittany. Remember what happened last time?" *taps noggin* See? Wising up.

How amazingly glad am I that it all worked out as I had hoped? It's enough to make the teetotaler that I am want a drink. Where is that bottle of sparkling apple juice?

In semi non-knitting related news, Sunday was the grandparents day. Both sets of grandparents are so funny. On my dad's side, my grandfather is obviously where daddy and I got our terrible sense of humour from. Unfortunately, I didn't get the social nature that he has from him. My grandmother spent most of her time telling him off. Ha! Sound familiar, Eric?

On my mother's side, my grandma is amusing too. I pulled out the camera phone to take pictures of the baby cousin and she starts ranting about camera phones and how the girl in the restaurant was etc. etc. etc. And I ask her how you make tea eggs. So what does she do? She whips out the carton of eggs and goes at it. Awww.

And my grandpa. Oh my grandpa. I spent some of my time spinning while I was there. And I noticed him watching me and when I put down my spindle to try and pay attention to the cooking lesson, he picked it up and started going at it. So I showed him how to draft and such and I told him that if it wasn't twisted enough, it would fall apart. He gave it a shot and it dropped. Then he looks at me and laughs and says, "It's not easy, hey?" It's not that bad, grandpa.