Come for cookies.

I guess I’m going to start providing monthly updates on the ambient lighting at chez Zoée. Last Saturday, in an effort to make their living space more crafting-friendly for their nyctalopic (yes, I just learnt this word) pal, Zoée hung an extra lightbulb above the couch and urged me to take the corner space.

Before I left for the mainland last Friday, my lighting technician encouraged me to bring a crafting project to work on, as they were on a roll with their first-ever knitting project: a sweater.

Yes, a sweater!

When I got into knitting a decade ago, I would never have ventured to make a sweater, even after completing five toques and a scarf. Choosing a sweater as a first knitting project seems completely insane to me, but Zoée seems to be managing it well.

For our enchanted evening of entanglement, I packed two skeins of yarn. Rather than knit yet another toque, I wielded a crocheting hook to form the cap portion of my mushroom guy. Not only can Zoée make a sweater in a dimly lit room, but they can also follow the plot of Bridgerton while doing so. The only scene I caught was Daphne experiencing her first post-nut clarity.

I’d paid for my ride and lodging with jizz cookies and egg salad sandwiches.

Continue reading “Come for cookies.”

Roule ma poule. Or not.

Last Friday, I did a 7.5km road run. Saturday was project day: I continued working on my cross stitch project and started sewing an oven mitt. Sunday, I did a 73km ride outside (average temperature 4°C/39°F). Yesterday, I finished the oven mitt and then ran up a mountain (9.5km). This morning, I raced in virtual France with the RIOT ladies (31km).

My crowning achievement over the past few days, however, was mailing my AFI card application. The only envelopes I had on hand were cutesy stationery envelopes featuring cartoon cats navigating a tiny pirate ship, or neon yellow card envelopes, both of which were too small for my needs. I stopped by a Canada Post outlet to pick up the proper #10 envelopes and noticed they offered ones with built-in postage. After I’d paid for those, I ripped off the plastic wrapper and wrote my address on the upper left corner of one of the envelopes. As I unfolded my application to find the mailing address, I discovered that the destination was a mere ten-minute walk from where I was.

Oh boy.

Perhaps that’ll count as bonus proof of my disability.

Continue reading “Roule ma poule. Or not.”