Threads

Have you ever had a so-called interior decorator step into your home and shake your hand gravely with a look of "Oh you poor thing! This is your home?" In most cases, I would have thrown her out almost immediately, free estimate or not, but I was not buying from her. If she really was an accomplished interior designer, what was she doing measuring blinds and taking orders for Costco?

Cream Caress, 25% mohair yarn. For a scarf for a friend.

She looked me up and down and brushed the lapels of her jacket to draw attention to her clothes. Me? I had struggled to stuff myself into my jeans when I had heard her car pull up. I had brushed my teeth but I am not sure the hairbrush had had a close encounter with my hair yet. But, you know, this is Boulder. Millionaires and hippies abound; and the homeless guy with the cardboard sign on the Table Mesa exit off Boulder Turnpike is probably better dressed than most of them. I am neither but we can pretend.

She went clomp clomp all over my house with her thick ankles and fat feet that were pouring out of her high heeled shoes, insisting on giving me a quote for windows I wasn't interested in. I think she just wanted to see the rest of the house. She insisted on calling my living room 'the fam-i-ly room.' I corrected her but she still put it in the order as the family room. I don't have a formal living room or a formal dining room, for that matter. I wanted it that way because I think those two rooms, in particular, are a huge waste of real estate. They would need to be adorned with expensive furniture that we would hardly ever use.

The Hunter-Douglas sale was upto $100 off per window. She offered me only $25. The blinds that had $100 off per window were too expensive, she said in a condescending tone. I was very close to asking her to leave but Costco rates were far too attractive and the end of the sale a little too close.

The yarn has a lovely feel to it. It even has a shine.
It is not, however, of a consistent thickness
making my knitting look uneven.
Still there is a lovely charm to it. Medha does not agree.

A ridiculously high quote for our bedroom window made my husband finally agree to try out cordless Redishades that were selling at Costco, again, for $29.99. They aren't the greatest but they are a lot better than what we were living with currently. I did however almost bust an artery when I saw my husband cutting them to size with my best and most expensive knife. It was a gift from a dear friend who had made a sheath of cardboard held together by duct tape so that I could store it in a drawer and not risk slicing my fingers every time I reached in for something else. He figured that since it had been put away thus and he had never seen me use it, it was fair game to be used as a tool. If you've been a reader of this blog for a while. you might know that this is one of my pet peeves.

The pattern is called Wisp and is the most delicate pattern
I have ever knitted. I should have used larger needles than US8
because this looks nothing like the pattern!
Medha feels it looks untidy.

Madam Interior Decorator arrived, after much back and forth, to finally take the order. She had that look of abject pity on her face again because I had whittled down the order to the absolute essentials. I had also let go of the dream of having a remote for the blinds in my kitchen. Homes in the US are not made for those petite in stature and just like I cannot comfortably reach beyond the first shelf of my cabinets, I cannot reach the wand or the string for my kitchen blinds. My husband had installed an extra long wand to which was attached the cover of a pen into which was hooked a small Christmas ornament. I tucked this through my knife block, making sure that the knives kept it in place. I could only tilt the blinds. If I needed to pull them up, I had to get onto a stool to reach for the string. And let's just not talk about opening the window. I had dreams of using a remote... but never mind.

She showed her impatience by tapping her ugly nails on my beautiful smoked glass dining table. I know that many women spend a lot of time on their nails but I'm sorry I find those fake nails rather repulsive. They remind me of claws. And, claws should be on animals. The continued tapping of her nails as I gave my credit card details to the clerk at Hunter Douglas over the phone began to annoy me. I usually have a very thick skin but her general demeanor and attitude had started grating on my nerves.

As she left, I told her that it must be a pain to carry that around everywhere. Oh! I'm used to it, she said, lifting her heavy portfolio bag in acknowledgement. I just looked pointedly at her extra large hips, straightened my trousers around my own, smiled and said: Oh, I wasn't talking about that. Good bye!

I have been agonizing over it, not knowing what to do next.
I need to complete it and have it in the mail by October 31.

She may have the last laugh though. The last date for mailing in the damned rebate forms was October 13. I thought it was tomorrow. I proved once again that I am stupid and that rebates are for better people than me.

So what do you think I should do? Frog it?