Okay so it's 3:30 am and I'm afflicted with way more pain than should be legal, so I'm sitting up in a chair surfing and came across something I just have to show you. I tell you my situation by way of disclaimer...I wouldn't want you to think that on a normal day at a normal hour I would stoop to such things. But pain and insomnia and the need for distraction can do funny things to the brain (and the fingers) and boy is it working its magic
There's no use hiding my age since it's plastered all over this blog, so I'll just go ahead and tell you that I am a fugitive criminal from another time and place, known as the Age of Crochet, hoping to just live out the rest of my life quietly, avoiding discovery, arrest, and incarceration in Crochet Hell. Fortunately, about the only remaining pieces of evidence against me are lovely pieces of white lace, the beneficiaries of other works of grace having discreetly and mercifully disposed of much of the body of my (worsted) work.
And now, because it's a beastly hour and because laughing is the only sane way to deal with my predicament, I shall share with you a little-known corner (I accidentally typed "coroner" and then realized it might be more appropriate) of the cyberuniverse, devoted to the relics of my fellow criminals, some of them no doubt still doing time for their total disregard of the principles of mercy and good taste.
CAVEAT: If you experience compunction (here lies a word I'd never use in the daytime) when gawking at the less fortunate and laughing uncontrollably on a Sunday morning before church, you are hereby given permission to set this one aside and check it out when you get home. Do not, however, forget.
We should never, ever forget.
What Not To Crochet