Inane Q & Slightly Snide A

I love muggles. I really do. In fact, some of my best friends are muggles because, after all, it's far easier to impress someone with your knitting when they have absolutely no idea what it's supposed to look like, or how hard it might be to accomplish ("What, this scarf? Yes, it's a rather tricky little thing I like to call 'the garter stitch'. Not all knitters can learn it...I'm really quite proud."). You can also repeat utter nonsense like "Oh, it's a homongon lace pattern with a half-hitch that I added some dinkyloops to and also some fuzzbobbles." and, as long as they don't know any other, more honest knitters, they'll be awed. (I, of course, just retain my odd status at this point, and I accept that.)

But there are muggles and there are muggles. There are the charming folk who happily open up doors with comments like "Oh, that's so lovely. What are you making?" and "I love that yarn. What's it called? Can I feel it?" and even "That's a great sweater. Who's it for?" And then there are the others. I don't mean the people who don't get it, I mean the people who think it's a cute little hobby that they should say something about when they really should have just laid down until the idea went away. You know the ones. For those people, I have a few answers that I'm thinking of using, but I need some further input before I implement them. For example:

I was knitting at lunch the other day on the Evening Wrap from Hell (I don't do well with deadlines....at all....and add in the two Louisville Sluggers I'm using for needles and the two stranded yarn that seems to have couple's issues in that the strands would really rather not be anywhere near one another...yeah. It's been a long slog.), which I've been knitting on at lunch for just over a week now. A doctor came along and, in the brightly cheery voice normally reserved for three-year-olds who made it to the potty, said "Oh, look. It's getting BIGGER." What I said was something mumbly like "Yeah, it's getting there". What I wanted to say was one of these:
1. "What? It IS??? Quick--help me kill it!!!"
2. "And that's so strange because I've been trying to make it shorter for the last three days. What do you suppose I'm doing wrong?"
3. "Which is odd, because you'd think that could only happen if I was actually knitting on it and....well, what do you know? Look what I'm doing!"
4. "Yeah, I hope it stops doing that before I wear it, because that would be kind of creepy."

Or the doc who said absently "So, you're a knitter?" after having watched me do it every lunch break for a week. What I said was "Oh, yes. I've been a knitter for some time." What I wanted to say was:
1. "No, I just like to hold the needles and pretend. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to wrap all this yarn convincingly around the...what do you call them...needles?"
2. "So, you're a doctor?"
3. "Only when I run out of taxidermy supplies."
4. "Why do people always think that, I wonder?"

Now, some people have been known to ask me if I enjoy knitting and, to be fair, the look on my face as I've been working on the Wrap of Doom makes that a fairly reasonable question. In truth, the correct answer would often be "Not right at the moment, I don't. Ask me again when I've fixed this lace error/picked out this knot/figured out this damned chart/whatever." But, seeing as how anyone who's known me even five minutes knows that I am a compulsive and devoted knitter with so many knitting needles that the burglars steer a wide berth for fear of being run through, and and who is personally responsible for dozens of naked sheep and not a few equally undressed alpaca, it seems logical to assume that I like it at least some of the time. Which leads me to dream about saying things like:
1. "No, I really hate it. But I have to do community service for that little "bank heist" incident, and the judge wanted sweaters for his family, his neighbors, and his four shitzus. Do you think this will look good on a shitzu? What if it's a drag queen shitzu?"
2. "No, but the clicking of the needles drowns out the voices in my head. What? No, shut up--he was asking ME!"
3. "No, it's aversion therapy. Every time I think about giving wedgies to people from Elbonia, I have to do something unpleasant until the urge goes away. You're not from Elbonia, are you?"
4. "God, no. You wouldn't want to take over for me, would you?"

Oh, and don't you love the "Wow, I'll bet you save all kinds of money making your own socks?" (Lady, I have over $200 invested in my sock drawer...and that barely gets me through a week.) and the "Hey, I'll bet you could make me a sweater really cheap!" (sure, if you think $300 just in yarn is really cheap. Oh, and my time is worth $25 an hour. You call me when you get your piggy bank open.") and even "Gee, I could NEVER just sit there like that. I'd get so bored." To which I'm inclined to reply
1. "Yeah, I used to think that, too. Then I realized that if I ignore them, the complete idiots usually go away and leave me alone."
2. "I'm sorry--what? I was distracted by that paint drying behind you."
3. "Oh, I know. Tell me again about the riveting episode of 'Lost' you saw last night while you weren't just sitting there."
4. "It helps to drink heavily. Which might explain all the holes in this thing."

I know, I'm being cruel. I will say for one and all to hear that 99.9% of muggles are absolutely delightful. Now, can't I get permission to be slightly snide about the other .1%? Please?

Knit on.....and by the way--do you like knitting?