I am part of a small knitting group that meets at a local coffee shop. We all have full and busy lives – jobs, kids, family commitments, vacations – so sometimes our schedule gets a bit erratic, especially in the summertime. And in the winter, what with the weather and all. And spring is always difficult; not to mention fall, when the kids are going back to school… oh, heck, we’re always irregular. But I digress.
Last night, I was feeling poorly after a long weekend at my regular job; sometimes the nightshifts really beat me up. After an afternoon of wandering aimlessly around the house – stiff, tired, stupid and sore - I finally surrendered to my crabbiness, put on a pot of coffee and curled up on the sofa with a science fiction novel. I posted a note on Ravelry to let the others at Knit Night know that I didn’t have the oomph to come out. I was weak. Weak, I tell you.
Being too lazy to get up and let the dog out whenever she came whining, I propped open the screen door so she could come and go as she pleased in the fenced back yard.
Darkness fell. The dog let herself out.
She came dashing back in, threw herself into her bed and began rolling about, pitching all her toys to the floor and rubbing her face on the blankets. I looked up from my book and smiled to myself, charmed by her antics – why, the old girl was still playful after all these years.
And then it hit me.
She’d tried to outrun it, but it’s impossible to outrun the stink that you are the source of. It billowed off her in green-tinged waves of semi-solid reek. I reeled and gagged, leapt off the couch and ran away. The dog chased after me, and I turned back in the hallway, yelling: “No! back on your bed! wait no not the bedroom carpet - !”
She tried to get rid of the vileness by rubbing her face on my legs – oh, splendid, now I was a stench carrier too.
I am not a strong-stomached person. I was not in my best physical shape last night either. I was certainly not planning on dog-bathing (twice), blanket & bed laundry (also twice), bathing myself (only once, but very long), dragging all the household fans into the hallway to wind-tunnel the stink out of the house (it took hours to clear), and giving the Yankee Candle Company the chance to show off how much skunk reek those votives are capable of covering up (not as much as one would hope).
None of this would have happened if I’d just gone to Knit Night instead.