Yarn Paralysis, Take Two (and call me in the morning)

Well, my darling friend Jennifer (one of my favorite people) just had me as a sort of "guest blogger," and in the event that some of her adoring public wander over this way, I suppose I shall have to get on the ball and give you something to read. For anyone waiting with bated breath for the continuation of the yarn shop saga, I publish here Parte the Seconde, as told to the Shameless Knitting Nerd:

I was back there today - again - braving my icy driveway and giving the stiff arm to my little nursling... I had an "oh crap" moment when I walked in and the same clerk that was there yesterday (and witnessed my bizarre behavior) was working again this afternoon, but I threw caution to the wind and headed to the back where they keep the sock yarn. In a way, this was good, as it allowed me a modicum of privacy in which to sweat and agonize, but it also made me feel furtive, as though my yarn paralysis needed to be hidden from public view to spare, no doubt, children and the otherwise impressionable or easily alarmed. After lying awake half the night, I had my plan of attack in mind... I was going to return the three skeins of Kureyon and come away with either some Silk Garden Sock (price be damned) or some Lornas Laces, enough in either to make one of those Baktus scarf thingies I keep seeing on Ravelry (a way for poor slobs like me to make something nice out of a pathetically small amount of really nice yarn). So I grab a skein of Silk Garden Sock in color 84 (that was easy!), while simultaneously resisting the urges to swoon and to get sidetracked bythe Zitron. I was a model of self-discipline (forged in those long hours of tai chi), and I was headed for the register in record time when it reached out and grabbed me. "It" being the Malabrigo sock. It was hanging there on the end cap, lying in wait, no doubt, for the tragicaly weak to blunder by. Apparently, yarn can smell the yarn paralysis on you - it marks you as one that can be culled from the herd. Because I had just bought some Malabrigo worsted, I had made up my mind that I wasn't going to even consider the Malabrigo sock, the better to experience some other fantastic yarns. Apparently, the Malabrigo gods were offended by this and threw a hank of sockweight Rayon Vert in my path. If you haven't seen this colorway in person, I feel for you. It is a stunning, truly life-changing mix of radiant deep purples cut with a hint of olive and dirty mauve... so I had to grab it I did. Really. And as I hesitated, the Lorna's Laces (in the breathtaking Baltic Sea colorway), took advantage of my indecisiveness and leapt into my hand. So there I stood, then, with the Noro, Lorna's Laces and Malabrigo, thinking there was no way I was going to leave with it all (right?)... and thus the sweating began. I cleared a space on a shelf and laid them out side by side, as though that was going to do anything except convince me I had to have them all. How does one even begin to compare the various merits of gorgeous yarn? It's like trying to say which one of your kids you like best. The Lorna's Laces happened to be a perfect match for the pants and coat I was wearing at the time, so score one for the Shepherd Sock. But the Malabrigo was so - luminous. (Score tied.) And the Noro? - automatic point for sheer gorgeousness. As I was standing there, and making occasional trips back and forth between the counter and the window (in the vain hope that seeing the yarn in natural light would render any debate moot and put an end to the agony), I started to feel self-counscious. Did the clerk think I was getting sticky fingers? I probably seemed suspicious - twitching, sweating, gnawing on a fingernail or two... I put the Noro back (poorest cost/yard ratio, let's be rational), then the Malabrigo (I already have some, right?), leaving the lovely Lorna's Laces. Whew. OK. But then the light struck the Malabrigo just so, and I snatched it up again. (Dang.) After nearly 30 minutes (yes, I'll admit to that) of putting one back and then another, all the while pacing little circles on the floor and trying not to look like a shoe bomber, I cave and - in the interest of getting out of the yarn shop before my daughter either graduates from college or expires from starvation -decide that I can take 2 out of 3. Somehow, this doesn't help. Another period of time passes (which may or may not have been close to 25 minutes) and finally I was on my way out the door with the Noro and Malabrigo stowed in my canvas bag. The minute my butt hit the car seat, I was gripped by doubt and the plaintive wail of the abandoned Shepherd Sock tore at my yarn-weary heart, but I made myself a stone and drove on. If I was a betting gal, though, I'd lay good yarn money I'll beback there for the Lorna's Laces eventually... The clerk, who seemed surprisingly unalarmed by my odd behavior (leading me to believe yarn paralysis is a much more serious problem than I had initially supposed), was sure to tell me I had 90 days to exchange.

So that brings me to this:



...my current baby hat, the one I frogged and have now started over, but which I feel is about to get bumped so that I can turn that Silk Garden Sock into a Baktus in time for my sister-in-law's wedding next week. Let the insanity begin.