The Event

I’m Dutch, so I ride my bike. This unfortunate day was a very wintery day, it had snowed, the roads were still a bit icy, and it was freezing. So I put on my beautiful fuchsia hand knitted scarf. It’s really great, it’s beautiful… And it’s nice and warm. The event hall is a 10 minute bike ride from my home. So, easy peasy lemon squeezy!

As I neared the event hall I wondered if there would be many people. Would all the cars in the road leading to the event hall go to the Knitting and Crocheting Event? Oh no, they were headed to someone’s hall full of used househould items. They nearly had an accident on the tiny parking lot next to it.

When I arrived at the event hall I saw a few buses parked outside. I wondered: would someone actually fill a bus (let a lone three, as many as were parked in front of the event hall) with knitters and crocheters and get them to the event? No, there probably was another event going on at the same time.

I saw a lot of middle aged slightly overweight women. They were definitely attending. Should I have asked my sister or mother to come along? Was it weird to be going at it alone? I saw a few women in their thirties with child seats on their bikes. They were definitely attending too. Oh god. Did I fit in? Working full time, no kids, not of the right age. What was I doing? I locked my bike and decided to go in anyway. I saw that the only event this weekend was the Knitting and Crocheting event. Oh god, all these people were going. Including the woman in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank having a smoke in the smokers tent?! Really? I felt like the biggest outcast ever. I did not belong.

I went in anyway. I paid the fee. I had a plan after all, I wanted to buy a set of Tunisian Crocheting needles for the project I was planning on doing. I wanted to look for some wool for the moebius I wanted to knit. And I wanted to look for some tiny circular needles for socks, because I am set on knitting some nice looking socks.Instead of the abominations tha I have created as my first pair. It’s a first pair and for a first time, they’re not bad. No, they are, but I’m fully aware that they could even have been worse. Whatever that may mean.

I came into the event hall and there were so many women that I could hardly relate to. Women with really ugly crocheted scarfs around their necks. I could tell she was proud, and rightly so, but it wasn’t pretty… The worst part though, was the pushing and thrashing. I could’ve known, but I didn’t. Apparently if you put hundreds (or thousands) of women in a hall filled with knitting, crocheting, felting, quilting, yarns, fabrics, needles, and what not… They go berserk! I discoverd that I had to actively fight the urge to run out through the emergency exit all the time. Contstantly in a state of FUCK IT, I’M LEAVING! But I reminded myself of the needles, the yarn. This should be the place to find all that at once.

I must say, I outdid myself. I went through both the packed halls of middle-aged women pushing around to get to the best deals. I saw all the stands, I touched all the important yarns. I bought half of my desired needles. And I found the greatest yarn ever to knit a moebius. And then I ran out, gathered my coat, even saved someones really ugly hand knitted scarf, and headed home through a blizzard! I did myself proud!

Next in the Closeted Knitter: a project, I think… if I dare…

(This post has been published before on my other blog, but I’ve since decided to start a crocheting/knitting blog separately)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s