Sundays tend to be a pretty slow day at work. The biggest thing I sell is the Sunday Herald-Sun (sadly), so the rest of the time is my own, once I've finished the dusting and cleaning.
Unsurprisingly I use this time to knit. Unsurprisingly customers feel the need to comment.
"Wow. My nana does that."
Good for her. The inference that I'm an old crone is duly noted.
"It's a dying art."
Really? How much do you know about Melbourne's knitting scene? Nothing? Thought so.
"Oooo, are you knitting me a jumper?"
Why yes, complete stranger, I am. However did you guess?
"You're knitting socks? You can buy them nowadays, herherher..."
No, you're kidding! Where? And they look *exactly* like these, same colour, same pattern? No? Well then I'll just assume you were trying to be clever then, and I'll continue to knit these socks despite your biting and insightful comments.
"Oh, that's a really pretty colour!"
You're lovely and more than welcome to fondle my knitting. Go on, it's really squishy.
"You're so clever. I don't know how you do it."
Neither do I. I can't actually watch myself knit because I get all jumbled. I just knit.
"Oooo, are you knitting me a jumper?"
Oh, for feck's sake...
2 comments:
"Yeah, I'm going to spend six weeks of my life knitting a jumper for a complete stranger."
Bwahahahaaa! The sad thing is that they really do think that.
More front than a shop!
Post a Comment