The Spite Afghan
I just finished crocheting up a project I started late last October - my spite afghan.
What do I mean my spite afghan? I started it out of spite, to be a pain in the ass. It's exactly the kind of ridiculous passive aggression that is one of a woman's few weapons in the forced submission in fundigelical town. I'm almost ashamed I regressed to it in a moment of irritation.
Back in mid October when we were traveling and missed my maw in law's death we were driving around aimlessly doing various things to distract ourselves, like visiting a Japanese tea garden in San Antonio, going to the LBJ museum, going shopping.
I don't remember what point of silly assholery my beloved was engaging in but he really got on my nerves, so I announced that I immediately needed to go to Michael's craft store on our way back to the hotel because I had this, uh, thing, crochet, yeah, that's right, I had to start on. Remember being so annoyed with the men in the family that I decided to make an art supply stop just because I knew it would be something that my husband would definitely not want to do.
So I left him sitting fruitlessly in the rental car while our daughter and I went into Michael's and I got a pile of Caron Cakes in shades of grays, whites and turquioses to fashion an afghan for our Costa Rican house. I'd seen one on a pattern site that was ocean colors going from shades of sand to shades of water with tiny turtles, starfish and other aquatic creatures on it. I didn't want the creatures, but I did want the almost ombre shades going from beach to water. Took my time picking out the colors.
On the way back to the car my daughter turned to me and said, "You did this to screw with Dad, didn't you?" I hated to admit it, but that's what I did, without thinking, because this was the kind of minor rebellion that was acceptable in the old church, one of those manipulative things you did instead of being an adult and telling the other person you were getting sick of their behavior and it was working your last nerve.
Later that night I was sort of self-shamed after a lot of reflection into confessing to Jim why I'd behaved badly in reaction to his own peevishness, like we're both back in middle school. I hated having to do that, but it was due. I have no desire to ever behave like any of those women. Better to talk immediately and deal than to be passive aggressive.
I started working on the piece when we got back to Tamarindo, crocheting an hour or two here and there when I was watching television.But once my friends arrived in mid January and we went on a hunt to buy a house I shelved the spite blanket until this week.I've been whipping my way through my huge box of yarn since, making bath mats, a rug for just outside the door to hold our shoes, spa clothes for those impossible to find decent washclothes here. I've turned out a literal pile of crocheted housewares since February.
It was time to finish it, just like it was time to put an old learned at my old church passive aggressive stupid move to bed. At least I got a pretty blanket out of it.
What do I mean my spite afghan? I started it out of spite, to be a pain in the ass. It's exactly the kind of ridiculous passive aggression that is one of a woman's few weapons in the forced submission in fundigelical town. I'm almost ashamed I regressed to it in a moment of irritation.
Back in mid October when we were traveling and missed my maw in law's death we were driving around aimlessly doing various things to distract ourselves, like visiting a Japanese tea garden in San Antonio, going to the LBJ museum, going shopping.
I don't remember what point of silly assholery my beloved was engaging in but he really got on my nerves, so I announced that I immediately needed to go to Michael's craft store on our way back to the hotel because I had this, uh, thing, crochet, yeah, that's right, I had to start on. Remember being so annoyed with the men in the family that I decided to make an art supply stop just because I knew it would be something that my husband would definitely not want to do.
So I left him sitting fruitlessly in the rental car while our daughter and I went into Michael's and I got a pile of Caron Cakes in shades of grays, whites and turquioses to fashion an afghan for our Costa Rican house. I'd seen one on a pattern site that was ocean colors going from shades of sand to shades of water with tiny turtles, starfish and other aquatic creatures on it. I didn't want the creatures, but I did want the almost ombre shades going from beach to water. Took my time picking out the colors.
On the way back to the car my daughter turned to me and said, "You did this to screw with Dad, didn't you?" I hated to admit it, but that's what I did, without thinking, because this was the kind of minor rebellion that was acceptable in the old church, one of those manipulative things you did instead of being an adult and telling the other person you were getting sick of their behavior and it was working your last nerve.
Later that night I was sort of self-shamed after a lot of reflection into confessing to Jim why I'd behaved badly in reaction to his own peevishness, like we're both back in middle school. I hated having to do that, but it was due. I have no desire to ever behave like any of those women. Better to talk immediately and deal than to be passive aggressive.
I started working on the piece when we got back to Tamarindo, crocheting an hour or two here and there when I was watching television.But once my friends arrived in mid January and we went on a hunt to buy a house I shelved the spite blanket until this week.I've been whipping my way through my huge box of yarn since, making bath mats, a rug for just outside the door to hold our shoes, spa clothes for those impossible to find decent washclothes here. I've turned out a literal pile of crocheted housewares since February.
It was time to finish it, just like it was time to put an old learned at my old church passive aggressive stupid move to bed. At least I got a pretty blanket out of it.
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