An inappropriate relationship with the postman

That’s what I’m developing as a result of my online shopping habits. (But don’t you love online shopping? The excitement when your package arrives — like a little birthday present every time!)
This week, the postie was particularly good to me. Stitchionary volume 3 was a treat, as ever (you know I don’t generally follow patterns, so pattern libraries are vv NB), but what really thrilled me was, of course, the latest from the Harlot. I have such a literary crush on this woman. And see what good advice she gives:
“If you find a non-knitter who thinks what you do is clever, beautiful, and artistic; who never asks for knitted stuff but wears it with pride when you give it to him or her; and will help you carry home a whole fleece or a stack of stitch dictionaries without once implying that you might want to get a grip — marry that person.”
Heh. I did.
Of course, that doesn’t mean he gives two hoots about looking at or touching my yarn. Not even the Lion & Lamb. Or even listening to me read choice Harlotisms to him. There’s no accounting for tastes.
He did however call me from the kitchen, very excited, to show me pictures of Mars on the great interweb.
“That’s nice, dear,” said I.
“Nice! It’s not nice! It’s INCREDIBLE!” said he. “These are brand new pictures! From Nasa’s satellite! Taken 10 minutes ago! THIS IS MARS!”
“That’s cool, dear,” said I.
“IT’S AMAZING!” said he.
“It’s pretty,” said I. “Can I get back to cooking now?”
“You just don’t get it,” said he. “You’re not trying. You don’t love me.”
“Wanna see my yarn again?” said I.

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