PLUSHCIOUS

I'm sorry. I really am. I don't MEAN to constantly butcher the English language and make stuff up as I go along, but sometimes you need a little poetic license to get it just right.

This piece is like one big huge box of dark chocolates. That's sitting on a huge sleigh bed. With soft t-shirt sheets, a fuzzy blanket, and a warm sleeping puppy for company. Who is well behaved and never pees on the drapes. And who loves your boyfriend, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who is in the kitchen preparing breakfast and french press coffee.

Laura J. Perin's Idaho Star is precisely what the doctor has ordered. The pattern is lovely. The chart is lovely. The Vineyard Silks are....my God this stuff is lovely!

The progress looks rather meagre, but that's on purpose. I am savoring each and every stitch and just don't want to rush through this one only to add it to the FUPPY box. For the first time in my entire stitchy life, I'm not fretting one bit over any part of this....just enjoying it.

(I have to confess that as I'm sitting here typing this, I am trying to channel my inner Nigella Lawson. I think that she alone would have the proper voice/accent/words to describe this one. Besides, she's the only person I know of who can make a bowl of oatmeal sound like the "plucky heroine with the heaving bosom stares defiantly at her jaunty pirate captor and finally succumbs to his smoldering green eyes" scene out of a romance novel.)

Thus, the word plushcious.

Stewey is stomping around the house muttering "Fifty-five degrees and partly sunny, my ass" today, since it would seem that his afternoon plans of catching a few rays on the back patio have gone awry. It's rather gloomy and chilly at the moment, but I'm not complaining one bit....it just gives good incentive to hit the Happy Chair with some tea and comfort (in the form of stitchy-ness, of course).

Happy Weekend to you all! I hope that you have some stitchy-ness of your own to enjoy and that it's just....plushcious.

Oh, and a P.S. to Ms. Vonna...I'm not sure if he's Catholic, but Nicholas Sparks was a classmate of mine at Notre Dame. (I was a big fat loooo-ser and never said a word to him, but HUB-BA!)