Making Friends

A couple of days ago, I decided that I wanted to find out if the lady next door is a knitter.

My original plan was to stakeout her apartment via my peep-hole to see when she arrived, then jump out and ask, "Do you knit? See, I saw this strand of yarn outside your door and thought that you might be a knitter like me". No lead in. No, "Hello". Just getting to the point. If she is indeed a knitter-an obsessed one-then she wouldn't think I was crazy and would understand. But if she didn't know about things like yarn stashes and stitch markers, then, she might think I was a complete loon. She just moved in and would have to get a restraining order ALREADY.

Of course I'm kidding. Decorum prevailed.

We just happened to be leaving our apartments at the same time to walk our dogs (I didn't plan this, honest), and I thought I'd strike up a conversation with her by asking about her dog.

"How old is your dog?", I asked.

I got silence and the sound of crickets.

I asked her again and her answer was kind of short. "He's Seven." Like she was tired and probably didn't want to be bothered. So I decided to save the knitting question for another day.