These are stinky times in the household. Our hot water broke on Saturday and, despite a brief invasion at my mom’s house armed with a towel and a bar of soap, we have been lacking in the shower department. Sure, we wash bits and pieces when we can muster the nerve to freeze our above mentioned bits and pieces, but that isn’t the same thing. My hair, for example, could rival a Mr Scarecrow’s hair from the Wizard of Oz and win. And people would call it an unfair competition. Bookies would only pay me 2 to 1. All this is about to change. My handyman par excellence, Amedeo, is finally back in our lives. The man will do anything. And make you pay for it. Talent doesn’t come cheap and he knows it. I have a fondness for this man. He changed my locks back when I kicked out 2 of the nightmare flatmates. And that bonds you. He’s currently scouring the streets of Rome, looking for the one piece that will bring this apartment to its former shine.

In the meanwhile, I sit here and browse the internet looking for answers. I found a snag in my sweater pattern and spent the best part of yesterday posting alarming posts on Ravelry. I love the website, love the community and LOVE the fact the author of said pattern gave his 2 cents on this dilemma too. Come on, now! And so I am working on the final stretch of this project: the hood. I am very worried about this allergy of mine. I am hoping for a miracle cure. I love this sweater and it will keep me so warm on my excursions, but at what price. (and it’s funny to say, but my throat actually closes up at the mere mention of *spells it out so as to fool throat* a l p a c a) Anyway, off I go to knit and wheeze.

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