Dear Lori

Dear Lori,

You suck.

Why, you ask?  Really?  You have to ask why?  I think you know why.

You have betrayed me.  You, my "friend", have stolen my love.  The apple of my eye.  That which I hold dear.  And the worst part of it all is, the two of you seem to be happier together than she and I ever were.  I am wounded.  You have both cut me so deep,  I can barely speak of it (snort - yeah right).

This photo is proof of the betrayal.  Yes, I have stolen it from your blog.  Yes, I am re-posting on my own blog without your permission.  I make no apologies.  This is simply retaliation.  All's fair, etc. 

You see, that was MY sweater.  I was knitting it.  In teal green.  In fact, I had it all knitted and sewn up before it became clear that we were not meant to be.  I could see the truth plain as day, but it doesn't mean that I felt no pain while frogging and winding her back into luscious balls of merino.  I loved her, dammit!  I'll never forget the day I first saw her photograph, in the Fall 2007 issue of Interweave Knits - it truly was love at first site.  Alas, our love was not to last.  Sadly, she made me look like a bus and so we had to part ways.  It truly was for the best.

But did you have to go and make her fall in love with you?  Friends just don't do that to friends!  Where her blouse-y sleeves and rolled placket made me look like the Michelin Man, they merely emphasize your delicate proportions.  Where she made me look short and stumpy, she makes you look tall and lovely and *gasp* WILLOWY!  To add insult to injury, you've gone and knit her up in some of my favourite colours of Belfast Mini Mills yarn - the ones that remind me of Van Gogh and wheat fields.

HOW DARE YOU!?!

 

I don't understand it.  You sit there, eating french fries and still, your slim figure is not affected!  This is simply obscene.  I sit here with my salad (and ok, cream of mushroom soup made with butter and full-fat cream, but c'mon, it's vegetables - how fattening can it be?) and I suffer in bus-like agony.  It is beyond what is fair and just.  I shall not stand for this.  RESTITUTION MUST BE MADE!

Also, MUST YOU FLAUNT THE DIMPLES?  Is it not enough that I am shivering and cold (being cardigan-less and all) that you must rub my face in your adorable-ness?  Am I to be completely robbed of dignity?

In parting, I must insist that you allow me to visit my your (whatever) beloved sweater and admire her in person, at least one time before you whisk her out of my life completely (that, and you must invite me for supper on a night when your husband is making his famous Pad Thai).  I fear that without this courtesy, our friendship is at stake.

I stoically await your reply.

dw.

PS:  Since WHEN is your 5-year-old the second coming of Annie Leibovitz?  I am thoroughly disgusted.