Letter From an Afghan

Dear Little Green Pixie,

Have I offended you in some way?  Were the colors in your lap not as complimentary as you had hoped?  Was the garter stitch too nauseating?  Did you complete the I-Cord edging and realize the drape was all off?  What have I done wrong? Please, tell me!

All I remember is your satisfied face as you cast off the last three stitches of I-Cord and fold me up carefully to put me in this tote bag.  I remember hearing your promise of returning to me the next day to weave in all those ends.  But you never came.

After waiting for three days, I peeked over the edge of the flap to see you sitting there, happily knitting away at that skanky little cardigan.  You say it is for the office, but we all know the truth.  It is quick, cheap, and easy and you lost control.  She seduced you.  That cute little cable detail in the front.  The plunging neckline.  She did everything right.

And now I watch you picked up stitches for her neckband, and you really seem like you are going to finish her!  Why can’t you stop now and return to me!  I understand needing to take a break.  I understand an afghan is a large and daunting task.  I even feel your pain over that sudden black hole we found ourselves in toward the end.

But I need closure!  I don’t care if you want to move on to the next tantalizing knit, something cuter and slimer than me, just finish me!  Weave in the ends and cut the ties!  I can’t stand being stashed away here in this cream colored bag, waiting to be draped over a lap and provide warmth.  And don’t lie to yourself.  We both knew when this thing started that we would never end up together.  From the first square, you had it in your head to send me off to California where the sun never stops shining and half of it is desert.  You really think I will be needed out there?  You are a fool.


I’m sorry, baby.  I don’t mean to hurt you.  You know that.  We both need to cherish these last remaining moments together for what they are.  We both need to wrap this up.  So please, come back to me.  I need you.

Yours Truly,


PS – if that sleazy black cardigan tries to wrap herself around you one more time, I’m grabbing the nearest pair of scissors.

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