Knitting the Sea

One day last week, after the boys were off and I had set myself up at the newly re-discovered dining room table, I showed the Light of My Life the progress so far, telling him this, finally, really, no kidding, was the real final version.

He: "So you decided to go for the sea."

I tried to correct him. I expained that I had changed the contrast color. That the afghan looked like seaweed when it was all green, but now it was supposed to look like an English garden in the mist. Or maybe in the rain.

He: "No. For that you need pink. [Actually, I think he may have said "rose" but my mind refuses to process it.] And maybe some yellow."

I tried again. If not a garden, then maybe the landscape, but above ground. On dry land.

He: "It's okay, they're sea-oriented."

I pointed out that Norwich, was, in point of fact, not on the coast. Not to quibble, but it was land-locked. Not a port. The water around it was from the collapsed peat mine.

He (as the epitome of patient spouse): "Dear. England is an island. It's defined by the sea. It gets it's identity from the sea. It's okay to knit the sea for them."

Okay. Fine. I am now officially knitting the sea, the one that separates the knitter and the knit-ees.

I'd ban him except he doesnt read The Blog. Someone should tell him lawyers aren't supposed to have any artistic sense.