Call of the Wild

Wild Thing Number One:

It is apparently BFS season again already. I know this because I came downstairs the other morning, all innocence, to find a spider the size of Wisconsin in my sink. A BFS, if you will. He was perched on the side of the sink, balanced delicately on his enormous hooves and thinking that perhaps I wouldn't notice the eight legs my porcelain had mysteriously sprouted overnight. Mr. K offered this helpful observation: "Oh, it's just a little wolf spider (LITTLE? Dude. This thing is little the way the national deficit is but a trifle. Please.). He probably came up through the drain." CAME UP THROUGH THE DRAIN?????? Which means, of course, that I now have to shower and wash my hair with one eye open at all times, staring ceaselessly at the drain in the floor so as not to suddenly be startled by the sound of hoofbeats as the things stampede into the bathroom and up my leg.

Then again, Mr. K could be wrong. Given the size of the multi-legged bastard (the BFS, not Mr. K who is two-legged and not a bastard at all), it's quite possible he just walked up to the front door, picked the lock, and let himself in. Probably drank all the beer and watched late night TV, too.

Wild Thing Number Two:

I advised the outdoor kitties, Ed among them:

(that's a little beefcake for you, Monica) that it is not only acceptable but actually desirable to keep the rodent population down to some sort of manageable number such that they do not form organized nations with a governing council and a common currency under the house. I did NOT advise them that I would like a live and quite healthy snake to be waiting for me in the garage when I got home. (Since the garage door was closed all day, and since the cat flap is a few inches off the concrete, I feel confident in saying that he had a bit of feline help getting in). He was no more impressed than I was with the situation,or so I gather by his rather desperate attempts to convince me that he was simply a wide crack in the garage floor...that was slowly trying to disappear underneath the car. Is it possible for my cats to like things that aren't creepy crawly? Even better--things that aren't (or weren't recently) alive? I'd be okay with finding dead chocolate pudding or wounded cupcakes in the garage.

Wild Thing Number Three:
Capri pants made entirely out of knitted, mitered squares are probably nature's way of telling us to lay off the sauce while knitting. Or, if you can't lay off the sauce, at least take pictures so we can all giggle in horrified awe. To wit:

This was in the 25th anniversary edition of Vogue Knitting. As if it weren't enough (and I believe that it is), there is this jacket that COULD be lovely, but for.....

.....but for the addition of little knitted mudflaps all around the bottom. 'Cause, you know, that's what I want to wear around my ass: a garment that will make people think of a multi-ton semi-truck. But only if I can spend hundreds of dollars and untold hours making it.

There was also this peculiar garment:

which I think may be a long sleeved bra....with a train. Well, okay--a train for each boob. Look close--the bright blue part that comes down to her thighs isn't part of it. It's just sleeves, boob covers, and two trains. Or sleeves and two trains that function as boob covers, or sleeves and two boob covers designed for the woman who wears a bra size 38Long. Again, friends shouldn't let friends knit drunk.

But, having been dreadfully critical, I confess to being absolutely in LOVE with this:

I suspect that it is YEARS too young for me, and that it would make me appear to be about as womanly and curvy as a 10 year old boy (or a frightened garage snake)...and yet, I love it.

That may very well be the fourth wild thing--Ms. K's good taste, now roaming free range and nowhere remotely within my reach. What can I say? I've been traumatized recently by snakes and hooved spiders. It's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.