I was feeling punky yesterday (when, oh WHEN will I learn that refrigerated pie crust baked with cinnamon sugar is not food?), and the residual effect seems to be vague crankiness and the urge to watch teevee all day.
Who am I kidding – I always feel the urge to watch teevee all day.
After convalescing on the couch with the remote* for a while, I went to Knit Night last night. Jim’s work schedule has interfered with the last 3 out of 4 Knit Nights and I didn’t want to miss again. Plus, if I stayed home, I’d have to fix dinner. I need to get out of the house every once a while to preserve my sanity, but Knit Night at my local yarn shop has changed in the last few months, and when I got home I felt iffy about going back.
The group seems to have evolved into two distinct camps: the Crotchety Old Ladies and the Self-Absorbed Twenty-Somethings.
The Crotchety Old Ladies are singles who like to mingle, have no verbal filter and use language that shocks me. The swearing I can take, but the detailed descriptions of octogenarian rolls in the hay are too much. The Loud Twenty-Somethings dominate the conversation with ridiculous pining over some guy. The guy who has 4 kids by 3 different baby-mamas but is just so nice! The guy who is twenty-five years older than she is. And of course all the guys who stop texting after the girls put out. On the third date. The Oldsters and the Youngsters have two things in common – they are both appallingly loose with their lady lovin’ (ifyouknowwhatImean), and they use the internet to find the next Inappropriate Hook-Up. I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling the young girls that they probably won’t find The One on the No Strings Attached area of the internet. I leave feeling sad because they have such poor decision making skills; cranky because the real grown-ups can’t get a word in; and very, very grateful to be going home to a husband and not an apartment filled with cats.
I don’t fit in with either one of those groups, though. No one even knew what Hammer Pants were!
* kids can sniff out daytime teevee viewing. To foil their nosiness, be ready to flip to the news when they come in the room. Mine will roll their eyes, whine Not News! and sulk their way back to the playroom, leaving me free to flip over to The Real Housewives. Speaking of Real Housewives (we’re on the DC version now), can you BELIEVE those Salahi’s? I think the husband must be a sociopath.