Saturday, July 25, 2015
So much for my hand-made sweater......
Willy made himself comfortable on my bed while I looked for the scene of the crime. My limited imagination was incapable of forming a theory. Finally I went into my old bedroom, where I had thrown everything helter skelter in the process of moving to the other room. On the bed, in the midst of a pile of winter clothes, sheets, and blankets I found it. Somewhere Willy had found a tube of red oil paint, chewed it, and spread the paint all over himself and everything near him. He had made himself comfortable on my beloved hand-knit bulky sweater that I made and have worn since I lived on Wilson St. Luckily I am good at assessing a situation for what it is and didn't waste time crying over the sweater or getting angry with myself or my pink-tinged boy. I took the sweater down to the washing machine, rightfully not really expecting miracles. The picture shows the sweater after two washings.
I guess I better find that pattern and start knitting again.