Last week, I attended my first and last crochet class. Prior to that one fateful day, I found myself harboring grand delusions of sewing up fabulous creations for everyone for the holidays. Friends and family would be fighting over all my amazing hats and scarves and whatever else one crochets. I went so far as to spin around the idea that I would naturally be such a natural fiber arts star that I would quit my day job and sew my way to riches.
Fat chance. I might be the worst crochet-er in California. I should have known something was up the week before, when I would excitedly tell people that I was about to take my first croquet class.
So I'm in the market for a new hobby. If anybody has any ideas, I'm all ears. The only requirement is that it cannot involve yarn. Or string. All I will make, if said hobby includes any sort of twine or rope, is knots.
Oh, and fyi, if anyone is in need of a big ball of hippie yarn and one dumb pink crochet needle, they're in my dining room, hiding in the china cabinet with all the other castaways from half-ass art projects. This is just like when I decided to help run a clothing company. The realization hits: I like clothes fine; that doesn't mean I have to make them.
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