In fifth grade, I started going out with a boy. Going out entailed...well...nothing really. It was fifth grade and we were still mostly innocent. Kids paired off as only kids barely out of cooties can.

But, back to the boy. Over the years, we had your basic cootie-ridden relationship. I crushed on him when he hated me. He liked me when I pretended to ignore him. I bloodied his nose once. You know, the usual childhood memories.


Dale of Norway Baby Ull. Machine washable merino wool.

And in fifth grade it all came together, so we started going out. One day, some of the couples decided to spend recess getting married. Jon McEuen (shameless name drop...sorry) was the officiant--no one thought to check his credentials--and my boy and I exchanged vows.

And we all know a marriage ceremony ends in a kiss.

He broke up with me the next day.



It knocked my self esteem as flat as my chest and I never kissed another boy until I met the Businessman. *snort* Okay, even I can't hold a straight face at that last sentence.

From what I see on Facebook (and we all know how reliable that is) Mr. Boy seems to have grown up and has a baby due in October. He expressed incredulity that I would partake in such an old-fashioned hobby (proving he never really got to know me at all in fifth grade) and so, in retaliation, I am knitting him a baby sweater.


Sized for six months

It's how I work these days.

My other option would have been to avoid kissing knitting altogether until a truly wonderful frog person worth my kissing knitting expertise came along. But knitting for frogs is just not going to happen.

Kissing for sweaters...that has potential.