Sometimes I think about what could have been. What I could have been. A stocking hat, knitted on a loom, or a pair of crocheted slippers, keeping someone's toes warm and cozy on a cold winter's day. A cardigan sweater, sturdy, dependable, ready for whatever the fall weather might throw at us. Even better, an afghan. Perhaps an elegant ripple, or even a simple granny square.
But no. With all the choices she had, all the patterns, all the crochet hooks and knitting needles.... What does she make? The world's ugliest Christmas sweater.
I hate her. I hope I'm scratchy.