A couple of weeks ago, I came to the end of the garbage bags filled with yarn. While I was knitting the last scraps into something that looked more like an acrylic hallucination than a cozy cat blanket, I felt itchy about the whole thing and decided to go buy some yarn. For me, this is a sortie into enemy territory: inside every craft store lurk the kind of women who, in groups, look at me and see an alien. Fortunately for me, I’m a bitch. Even more fortunate for stray cats, I sailed through the store, glowering at anyone staring at me because I am freaking MATURE, and found one pound skeins of poofy synthetic yarn on sale, some for as little as $2.99. The colors are appalling, but who cares? I carried off as much yarn as I could stuff into two large shopping bags and escaped without a scratch.