Soft music is playing in the background. The rhythmic clicking of knitting needles is soothing, almost hypnotic. It feels good to be creative.
All of a sudden, an explosion of sound disturbs the peaceful atmosphere.
FUCK!
Do knitters say fuck? If they're me, they do. If they've ripped out the same set of stitches three freaking times, and have to do it yet again, they do. Sometimes it's embellished with a few other swear words thrown in for good measure. I can't make my fingers do what I want them to do. The yarn's too fine, or the needles are too slippery. Or my brain isn't firing on all cylinders today. Whatever. I'm ready to bend these stupid needles from hell into artful shapes, and hang the yarn on the pointy bits.
It seems incongruous. Knitting brings to mind peaceful images: sitting comfortably in a favorite easy chair with a cat purring at your feet, or sharing gossip with a few fellow knitters. None of these images include bad words.
Ah well. Try try again.
Fuck.
