K&C Week Day 5: Something A Bit Different

I've been sat in this yarn box for weeks now. The other yarns treat me differently, so much for a tight-knit community!

They think I haven't been watching them... but I have. I've been working out the social classes. From what I've seen so far, it's the hand-dyes that are running the place. They rule with an iron fist, but will happily show off their amazing colourways and soft textures. Then you have the acrylics they're pretty high up, which you wouldn't have expected, they're constantly coming and going, being used for all sorts of projects: Gloves, Cardigans, Blankets, you name it, they've been made into it. They show off their bright colours, like a peacock fans its feathers. Eyelash yarns are the hermits of the yarn box. We only have two here, and they've been here a year. They know they're not getting out. The Knitter hates eyelash yarn, she's just keeping them out of pity.

Sadly there is someone even lower than the hermits...The rejects, they're at the bottom of the crochet chain. People round here don't take kindly to people who have been knitted. Jealousy in its woolliest form. They've become rejects either because they're a used yarn from a friend or because The Knitter decided she can make you into something better.

Now, if you're a foreigner and a reject, you better prepare to be un-wound. Now who would dare do that gruesome job? I'll tell you who. The chunkies. Even the hand-dyes are scared of them. They'll unwind you until your're so knotted up The Knitter has no choice but to put you into a zip-lock bag named "Yarn Vomit". Ironically though, the chunkies in our box are now rejects. The Knitter handled the situation herself, by sticking them in a zip lock bag with the label 'Crap'. The whole box rejoiced when this deed was done and for now, the box is a much quieter and more enjoyable place.

I remember when I was first picked up by The Knitter. I'd been sat in a bargain bucket at the local crafts shop, just passing the time by counting sheep, when a shadow suddenly hung over us. When she started rumaging through, I thought it was one of the staff deciding who was to be trashed, but suddenly she picked me up and looked at me with incredible intensity.

"Aha. Perfect."

I'd never been called perfect before, so you can imagine my excitement as I winked a goodbye to my old pals while The Knitter waddled over to the counter. I remember the refreshing cool of the carrier bag and breathing in the fresh air as I was carried through the high-street.

I was always taught that you'd be knitted as soon as you were home, at least that was what it was like in the old days. The modern knitter is all about hoarding, and I learn that lesson the hard way as I was carefully placed in the dark box.

I've heard stories of new yarns being placed in their new home, only to be smothered by a fluffy mob. So the moment I was placed inside, I huddled into a corner and placed myself behind a zip lock bag prisoner. Niether of us can hear what the other is saying, so we just sit there in silence. Which is just how I like it.

Hiding does create a rather large problem, though. If other yarns can't find me, how is The Knitter meant to? Fortunately for me, the Knitter logged me into this online catalogue of yarn porn she has on this website called Ravelry. One day she'll scroll through and notice me, I'm sure of it. 

So if you're a knitter or crocheter like my owner, pleased do not keep us just for to show off to your fellow crafters, or to cuddle when feeling stressed. Think about the yarn in your closet, under your bed and in your fridge. Remember that you bought us for a reason. That at one point we were your heaven. Please make us into somebodies heaven. Whether it's a blanket, a toy or even a washcloth, we don't mind. Just use us, that's what we're for.

Thank you, and happy crafting.

Yours sincerely, 

R. B. Cotton.

P.S,

It seems The Knitter has put this on the internet and has asked me to tell you to consider nominating her if you enjoyed it. Can you believe it, she is taking credit for MY letter! What a cheek.