Yes, this is what my brain feels like. Yarn spaghetti. Mushy squiggles. Miles of mess.
The day began with a man growling and yelling at me because I would not let him attach his clambake company brochure’s holder to the store’s bulletin board. He is going to buy his books elsewhere from now on, by the way.
The day ended with a woman on the phone asking about a book. When I asked for more information, since the title she provided was not listed in Books in Print, she laughed and told me, in one of those tones, that other booksellers were willing to order the book for her, so she’d be taking her business to them. It was the laughter that got to me. The “you are an idiot masquerading as a bookseller” laughter.
I’ll shrug it off, let it go, get over it. But I will never understand why it seems to cost some people so much to be pleasant. Just plain old, ordinary, everyday pleasant. I am not meant to understand these people. I am lucky that I cannot understand them.
And I have something that they will most likely never have: I have knitting. I am sticking to my plan to knit at least one repeat of the Flower Basket Shawl every evening. There are no new pictures, because I had to frog and begin again, and I’m back to just past where I was when I posted this.
I’m pretty sure mean people can’t be knitters, anyway.
Not Plain Jane 
