I Swear I am Not a Stalker (Much)

I went to Toronto this past weekend, for a very last minute girls gone wild kind of trip. Well, as wild as five moms in their thirties who knit and get sleepy by 11pm can get. (Actually, we did a pretty good job, as the 400$ bar tab could attest.) On the way back, we experimented with the sport of sprint shopping, as I had ten minutes to run in and out of Lettuce Knit to assuage my not so secret sock yarn addiction. It was a whirlwind of shopping, with the driver of our car waiting at the curb while I raced in to procure my swag. I don't think I even stopped long enough to get a bag. I did stop long enough to spy the (ohmigod) Yarn Harlot a few feet away and I had to get all fangirl on her and ask her to take a picture with my sock:


stalkery goodness:


She very graciously agreed, and we talked for a few moments. My friend and I said we were on a road trip from Ottawa, and I felt the need to confess that I had accosted her once before, when I saw a woman skating on the Rideau canal with fantastic handwarmers and realized it was the (ohmigod) Yarn Harlot and I once again got all fangirl-ish, but minus the camera (thankfully). At that point, she began to look nervous, and I think noticed that I was between her and the door, so I left before things got (more) uncomfortable.

I like to think that I manage through life with something like grace and aplomb, and then little moments like this happen to bring me back to my awkward reality.

The sock thought it was pretty cool, though.

swag!