I should know better than to boast about my “moderation and restraint” when it comes to yarn buying. “What arrogance! What hubris!” the Yarn Gods must have thought. They decided to humble me by announcing a 40% sale off of everything at the Old Oaks Ranch, which is sadly closing its doors. The next morning, I found myself playing hookey, bombing down the curved roads of the Hill Country and driving more than an hour to get to Wimberley, where I was rendered helpless like a little child. With a credit card.
As I pulled up, there was an older gentleman lounging in the shade presumably waiting for his wife or partner who was shopping inside.
“Some people will go far for a yarn sale,” he drawled. Yes, I admitted, totally ashamed. “I drove from San Antonio.”
It was only later that I realized we still had our Oregon license plate.
Here is my (ahem) punishment: a mountainous pile untethered to a pattern, plan or project.
Quelle horreur! (Or, as VAW more aptly puts it, Quelle hoarder!)