Or, in my case, bright socks and a surly disposition. Now I'm on to a hat, from the first St. Denis pamphlet. I bought the booklet back when the yarn was released, and forgot to knit anything from it until two years after that yarn was discontinued. Fortunately, a friend returned from Ecuador with some alpaca yarn during that time. Yarn crisis averted thanks to international trade. It will be a Snow Star Hat in red.
I have a sneaking suspicion it's tending towards goofiness, and I'll just wind up looking like Toad from Mario when it's finished though.
Will I be able to drown my sorrows in beer? My fridge has been a little bare when it comes to Ontario beer, but here's Railway City's Festive Cranberry Lager, unseasonably enjoyed after the holidays. I apologize for the fruity lager. Throw a whole kitchen's worth of spices, fruit and herbs into my ale; whatever, that seems reasonable. But I've always assumed that lagers would be pure and golden (in spite of historical and personal evidence to the contrary.) So I was initially suspicious of this beer. I figured it would be like drinking cranberry juice that had started to ferment a little in the fridge. Not that I've ever experienced that directly, I swear. It wasn't that obnoxious, though--more like a shot of cranberry after a standard lager. Perhaps better suited to the summer than a more festive season though.
I will not, however, apologize for the glass. My grandmother was giving away my grandfather's barware collection. Since my Mom banned her 27-year-old daughter from taking home the "Bottom's Up" mug, complete with swinging ceramic butt ("That's gross!")m or the one with straight-up seventies peen on the side ("You're a LADY!") I settled for the Playboy goblets. And I'll always say a silent "bottoms up" to my grandpa when I use them.
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