Out of Control.

You know when you think things are going along AS THEY SHOULD, and someone throws a wrench into your machine, your plan, your whole stinkin' organization... ok, maybe it wasn't quite that bad. Maybe, I even finally stood back and allowed the door to be opened a crack - allowed a chink in the armor to become a gaping opening for the enemy to come blazing in.

Spinning. I speak of spinning. Specifically, the Tsarina and her Spindle (plural, actually cuz the girl went SHOPPING when she fell down the rabbit hole). Here we were, minding our own business, with a lovely little tsock business. My own little Tsock Tslave, as it were (she thinks I'm some Yarn Slave, but I've got her number... I think...) and then some upstart comes along and grabs that door and rips it RIGHT. OFF. THE. HINGES. Goes and sends the Tsarina a spindle and a WHACK of fiber. and not crap fiber, either.

This means war. I mean really. Club member and all. Did she think she'd get away with this? Without Repurcussions? I swore she'd get coal for her next club kit. Coal. And then, I did a little searching on 'coal' as it were, and found it... boring. Very. Boring.


It needed some fire. And so, Mistress 'I-can-make-the-tsarina-a-spinner', here's your Lump of Coal (though I think we're going to call it 'Embers' here).