Fasnachts (and I have given up trying to spell this on the fly) are donuts, deep fried in the spirit of Pensylvania Dutch pre-Lent festivity. New Orleans gets beads and shrimp and debauchery, and we get dough plunked into vats of boiling lard, and then coated with sugar.
Quick, they're distracted by something we find totally uninteresting! HOOT HOOT HOOT!
Feeling slightly guilty, I made off with a big bag of yarn, which effectively doubles my own stash. As Steph has good taste, it is all nice stuff. It's like we won the yarn lottery. Or mugged a girl of her yarn while she was all hopped up on sugarlard and beers. Whatever. Pictured here is about half of my score:
Do you like how it's all nestled around my coffee mug? This is what I did this morning. I admired how the colors of the yarn that I picked out match my coffee mug. I then drank coffee, fondled yarn, colored with Wendy, organized some yarn by weight, did the chicken dance with Elmo, and fondled my organized yarn.
As I made off with the booty Saturday night, I promised to let Steph visit it, and that she can have any of it back if she wants it. And I made a vow not to buy any more yarn. On top of the vow that I made to Carl to finish his other Christmas glove by the time the snow melts, this makes two yarn-related vows in a week. I'm on a roll.
I'm also feeling pretty fat. I mean. Sugarlard. A total detour from the light yogurt and Kashi track that I have been on lately. I'm not going to beat myself up over it, or anything. It was too delicous and full of chocolate for regrets.
New Motto: Buy No Yarn; Regret no Donut.
I'm embroidering that onto a flag, or something.