All I know is...

Tonight I made pompoms. Or: tonight I continued making pom poms. These days many things are in various states of continuing to be made. I have hunks of yarn sprawling from bags from next to the couch. Little pompoms are stuffed into one bag, yarn in another. And that's just the living room.

At one point, I dumped the pompoms out on the couch. Drew was here. He smiled. I asked if he liked them. He smiled. What? I said. All I know, he told me, is that this is just stage one. I prodded. He went on:

Stage two involves artfully arranging them somewhere. Fabric comes out. Things get tweaked. The camera comes out. More tweaking. Lighting is adjusted. Little details are typed up. He went on.

For the record, Drew is a terrible impersonator. Terrible. He has one universal voice for all women. It's high pitched, tone deaf and pretty darn bad. But his recitation of how I make things was spot on. It went on with detail. It was painfully accurate and absolutely hilarious.

I threw pompoms, a plaintive attempt to make it stop (and frankly to see what they look like thrown).  But despite my pride, I thought for posterity, and maybe a smidge of truth-in-advertising, here's how it looks - in all of it's rumpled banality- for real. Stage one:

This is how we spend our Saturday nights.
On Sunday, he'll spend the day at the mountain and I'll spend the day with my sewing machine (and, a hot glue gun.)
We've got three weeks to go. Vows unwritten.
All I know is, whatever forever we get is slated to include a hell of a lot of laughing.
Pompoms optional.

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