“You Must Be This Tall To Ride.”

Those words haunted my childhood.  While everyone else was busy screaming their faces off on Splash Mountain, I spun around in the teacups (again), plotting a way to corner Cinderella’s fairy godmother so I could ask her to make me two inches taller.  And even though I can ride all those rides now, there are nights that I still wish upon a star that I can be two inches taller.  Sometimes, I even go a little crazy and wish that I was three inches taller; if my wildest dreams came true, I would be 5’2″, I wouldn’t have to hem my pants, I could probably reach the top shelf items in the grocery store if I stood on my tip-toes, and would actually be able to belly up to a bar.  But dreams are just dreams; there’s no such thing as the tooth fairy and I’m pretty sure that the only height change I will encounter will be shrinkage due to osteoporosis.  I suppose by that time, they will have invented hover shopping carts, so I won’t have to ask that young whippersnapper to hand me the prune juice from the top shelf.  So at least I have that going for me.

The point I’m trying to make here is that I have to knit a lace edging 63″ long.  Sixty. Three.  I should be so lucky.  Who does this lace edging think he is anyways?  A basketball player?  Some kind of wizard?  A giraffe?  Bastard.

Did you know that the most common side effect of multitasking projects is the propensity to work on the ones that don’t have a looming deadline?  I’m fairly certain this is the reason why my skirt is nearly finished and the pillow edging is only at a mere 30 inches, even though I need to have it done by Monday.  It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that I’m begrudging the extra 5 inches the lace edging will have on me.  Nothing what-so-ever.