Tag Archives: Crochet

Crocheting at work, minus the crochet. Or work.

We’re finishing early-ish at work — well, I am, anyway — and all I want to do is break out the pink bag-to-be. I mean, dude, I just got to a part where the crochet changes color and direction! It totally psyches me up and gets rid of that “Oh god this is total drudgery” feeling. It’s like new project + feeling of progress from previous work, all rolled up into one ball of yarn so cheerful in color that I want to smack it around some, just on principle.

But it’s all dudes in this office, except for me, so the crochet is not so welcome. Women (and guys who really like women, or have fond memories of their moms or grandmas knitting or crocheting) will usually let me get away with it, but as soon as I pick up a project, someone here asks “Um, do you need something to work on?”

If I don’t, they ask me to proofread pages, which is weird because whenever I ask if I should proofread pages, they say “no.” I guess it’s reassuring that there’s no eerily-in-accord hive mind going on, but some days I just want to hit my head on the desk until I don’t have to think anymore.

And maybe one day, if I work very, very hard, I’ll get a desk of my own and won’t have to render myself unconscious with the desk of whoever’s got that day off.

Rosy and indignant

Two more days until the DSL comes back on at the house.

Two more days until civilization returns chez Arlette.

Once that happens, there will be photos of the abomination I’m crocheting right now.

It’s a bag.

It’s all pink.

Pink, dude. Pink. This is weird. I only recently stopped wearing all black, graduating to mostly black with some red and gray. I rejected the color on principle as “too girly” from about the age of, like, five. I read “Pink Think: Becoming a Woman in Many Uneasy Lessons” and learned plenty about the evils of pink. And here I am, making row after row of little rosy loops.

I flat-out refuse to turn in my angry girl-punk card — a legacy from high school — because, cop-out of cop-outs, the bag’s for a friend.

“Soft, baby pink, right?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“And your other favorite color is …”

“Hot pink.”

“I see.”

Not being able to find solid-colored soft pink cotton yarn at Michael’s — hey, no snobbery, I was making a run for sewing supplies and they had “Peaches & Creme” for, like, a buck fitty each — I went for the ombre shade colorway “Strawberry Cream,” which had some baby pink — and some white and magenta thrown in, as if the name didn’t boost the girly factor high enough. For a contrast color, I went with magenta.

Being a perfectionist when it comes to small, easily completed objects, I’m gonna line it. The perfect fabric turned up at the thrift store the other day: shiny, hot-pink fabric with little black polka-dots. I bought it, along with some — eek — soft pink fabric with white polka-dots.

I gotta say, this is the most pink anything, ever, in any place I’ve lived. On top of that, the other day I noticed the candy-apple red in my hair had faded to pink — and I like it.

Twenty years of vendetta against the color may be ending, folks. I don’t want to go overboard with it, since I still make fun of my sister for the time when she was about 11 that she named every stuffed animal she owned “Pinky,” regardless of hue. But the hatred just may be ending.