I'm convinced that Wifey hates wool, knitting, and all things related to sheep. But she won't come out and say it. It comes out in weird passive aggressive ways, which if confronted with, she forcefully denies.
1) A couple weeks ago, we were all sitting at the dinner table eating corn on the cob (I think). Instead of reaching for her napkin, Wifey wiped her hands on the newly finished Woolarina socks for Little Man! In utter astonishment, I blurted out an incredulous "what the hell are you doooooo-ing?"
2) Yesterday, I was home with a mild eye infection and thought I'd be a nice wife and do some laundry. You know where this is going, don't you? I opened the dryer, hucked everything into a basket, dragged it to the bedroom, dumped it on the freshly-made bed, and stepped back in horror when I saw this:
She felted the g-d d-mn brand-new never-worn handknit socks for Little Man, made from yarn that he picked out at a fiber festival! That's wrong on so.many.levels. I tried stretching them (see bottom sock), but they're still pretty small (see Zoe sticker for reference), and Little Man has big feet. Chances are good these wee socks will go to live next door with Little Man's best girl friend Lila and her baby sister Sophie. grrr.wifey.grrr.
In other photographic news, I didn't ignore the pleas for photos of my botched electric clippers hair cut. With the 3 jobs, everything is slower 'round these parts. Here you go. I was tired and loopy this morning. Consider yourself warned.
Hair has a mind of it's own. Fluff.
Hair and I get into it hot-and-heavy with the product. Crazy.
After a serious discussion about my professional prospects and what effect that will have on my ability to buy nice products for Hair, she decided to relax a bit.
OK, Hair -- this is a compromise I can live with.
See, I'm not bald afterall. Sorry Carry.