Preface: I don’t normally KIP, and that’s only because when I’m out in public I’m normally occupied. The only exception to this is when I’m waiting for my car at the shop. A few days ago I had my brakes replaced and state inspection which required an extended waiting period (I have to wait, because we only have one car). So after a walk to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast I came back, sat down in the rather cramped waiting room, and whipped out the Baudelaire sock I’ve been working on…
I noticed a couple lingering looks as I sat there with the lace chart and yarn ball on my lap and needles in hand (magic-loop! Yeah, baby). I brush them off. It was at this point I began to wonder when exactly someone would inquire/comment about what I was making. It was no surprise to me that the first one was an elderly man who waiting for his car to be prepped for his seasonal migration somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line:
“Watch ya making?” he asked. I sensed he was desperately trying to break the silence as I’m not one for small talk, “a hat?”
Now, I’m well into shaping the gusset on this toe-up sock that is meant for my rather petit step-mother. But I try to hide my “WTF?” look and muster a polite response.
“No, it’s a sock.” I lift WIP slightly to reveal the sock-like shape.
“Oh, definitely need those around here.” He replied.
Indeed. The frost on my car windows was quite thick and the act of scraping them off ended up making me a tad late for my 7:30 appointment. At least I don’t live in Buffalo.
About 30 minutes later…
The owner/manager of the establishment looks intently and asks “What are you making?”
“A sock,” As you can tell from my minimal response, I’m not much of a people person.
“Do you have kids, or something?”
Huh? My brain scrambles to make the connection between knitting and kids, which is somehow obvious to him but not to me. Does he think I’m knitting a children’s sock?
Again, politely: “No, I just like making socks. It’s a Christmas present for my stepmother.”
The owner/manager, who really is a nice guy btw, then adds that his wife crochets and he thought that’s what I was doing until he saw the two needles. In hind-site, I guess the “kid” question was a more politically correct way of asking me if I was pregnant. Thus, proving that the cliché of the “knitting-mother-to-be” is still alive and well. But this is just an assumption. I can’t help but to wonder, though.
Sometime time later, still knitting away in the cupboard/waiting room…
One of the mechanics squeezes into the cupboard for something, notices me knitting away, and gives me a wide smile.
Ummm, okay. Trying not to get too creeped out I continue on with my gusset increasing. I guess I was expecting something like “hey, check out the grannie!” So it’s not so bad, I guess.
500 years later…
The same mechanic returns to the cupboard but this time he has to wait in line for the boss-man.
“Man, you’ll have a whole (something or another, I couldn’t understand him since he had a slight case of mush-mouth) before we’re done here.”
I smile, interpreting it as a compliment to my mad-knitting skills, but before I could get a response out the owner/manager replies, jokingly:
“Maybe not, if you actually finish sometime this year,”
Hmm, come to think of it, I was there for a little over 2 hours. But I really didn’t care since I was knitting.