writing doodle - day 17 - word count 800

I gave up on being self conscious and squeamish years ago, some where between being the sousaphone player who got stuck inside the instrument and my first condom purchase the day before my prom date stood me up.  Sometimes things in life happen and you just deal with it.

Today, I got to deal with it in a craft store.  Who knew they only carried acrylic worsted weight crap?  Haven't their buyers ever heard of wool?  What about cotton?  Do blends ring a bell to anybody?

I stood looking at the same pitiable gondola of yarn wishing it into cashmere.  Soft, warm, luxurious.  And let's not skimp on a soft but rich color.

But no.  Today all I had before me was a selection of yarn that would turn Santa's elves' stomachs.  Red and green acrylic yarn with silver interwoven.  Really?

I walked back to the pegboard to rehang the needles, both knit and crochet, the measuring tape, and a darning needle. Even though I hadn't committed to a project yet, there are some things you need to make a project happen. I wasn't going to half ass this afghan, scarf, or mittens.  A thing worth doing is worth doing right.

Just because I had the tools didn't mean I was going to get any inspiration for my project.

It was such a good idea.  I could have been in the room with no hassles and kept my mind semi-occupied.

A heavy-set, fifty something woman with a smock offered to rehang my items for me; obviously

she didn't think I was capable of doing it by myself.  

"Is there something specific I can help you find?" she asked.

"No, that's alright," I said, "Molly."

"Holly."

"Sorry.  My eyes aren't quite focused, Holly."  Years ago when I took a speaking course, they mentioned people liked to hear their own names.  Guess that was a massive faux pas on my part. I stretched and brought my fist to my mouth to stifle a yawn.  

"Are you sure?  Looks like your wife sent you here with a list," she said.  

"I'm sure." 

She looked me up and down and whispered, "You know Sharon, right? Cashmere?"

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing." She turned her back to me and began unloading my basket.  "Fine cashmere."

"Did you say cashmere?"

She looked me in the eyes and shook her head while she mouthed a yes.  "My break is in ten minutes.  Meet me back behind the store in twelve."

I was tired, my mind was muzzy, and I couldn't focus on a conversation much less a name tag.  "Sure." Exactly why, I couldn't tell you.

I completed my sundry purchase thirteen minutes later, I left the store and walked to the alley. Holly was smoking an e-cigarette with her foot on the bumper of a Chevy Cruiser.  'I can fix you up for a price." She looked over her shoulder and down the alley, I guess to make sure the coast was clear.

This was beginning to sound like an awful after school special except I wasn't being offered drugs. It seemed I was being offered contraband of some kind.

"I've got a stash in the back," she said.  She jiggled her foot and started rocking the car.  "Prime stuff.  You won't regret it."

I was already regretting it. "I don't know what I'm doing here.  Forget it."

There was a high chirp and the lid of the trunk rose.  Holly flipped back a murky green oil cloth and revealed a treasure trove of yarn.  Nothing like the offerings in the store. There were baggies labeled sock yarn, scarf yarn, mittens, and sweater. I picked up a baggie and held it toward her.  "How much?"

"Cash or credit?" She extracted a cube from her smock pocket and put it on her cellphone, ready to take my payment. "Cash is a ten percent discount and we've never seen each other.  If you go credit, full price plus tax."

I raised my eyebrow.  "Cash?"

She named a figure that was astronomically high, if you were buying your yarn by the pound.  This, this was pre-packaged and ready to go for specific projects.

I indicated the whole trunk.  "Everything?"

"No."

No?  I paid less for my first year of college than she priced just part of her stash.

"Everything."

She named a price that seemed to belong somewhere in the stratosphere.  "Tonight only.  Tomorrow I won't be here, I'll be gone for a week."

Taunted by perfection and bliss to have to make a spur of the moment decision?  I had half an hour left before I was going to be noticed missing at the hospital. I plucked four zippered bags, handed them to her along with my credit card, and cringed.

I signed her display and my own phone rang.