Comments on: Just when you think it’ll be fine…. http://www.dognamedbanjo.com/2008/01/18/just-when-you-think-itll-be-fine/ Fri, 10 Sep 2010 18:16:13 -0700 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.8.4 hourly 1 By: Dori http://www.dognamedbanjo.com/2008/01/18/just-when-you-think-itll-be-fine/comment-page-1/#comment-23 Dori Sun, 20 Jan 2008 19:47:57 +0000 http://www.dognamedbanjo.com/2008/01/18/just-when-you-think-itll-be-fine/#comment-23 I think the hat looks pretty. Perhaps you just need to find someone bigger-headed to give it to? Maybe with a limited sense of smell? I think the hat looks pretty. Perhaps you just need to find someone bigger-headed to give it to? Maybe with a limited sense of smell?

]]> By: Asheen http://www.dognamedbanjo.com/2008/01/18/just-when-you-think-itll-be-fine/comment-page-1/#comment-20 Asheen Sat, 19 Jan 2008 05:30:02 +0000 http://www.dognamedbanjo.com/2008/01/18/just-when-you-think-itll-be-fine/#comment-20 I think I actually accompanied you to said yarn shop to purchase the ill-fated Malabrigo in question (which, had you asked me before, I would have suggested was a kind of toy dog or a soft cheese). I distinctly recall our heading to Masala Art for lunch and, finding the suspiciously complicit Indian restaurant just a few minutes from opening, I heard the words "yarn store" and "you don't mind do you," and the next I knew I was experiencing flashbacks to accompanying my mother to the grayish-yellow bleakness of the Fabric Store. Weeks later I took Julie to said yarn store, where we experienced a similar catastrophic fate -- the details of which I am sworn to secrecy on pain of death (or at least strong glaring). Clearly I must be yarn-store-cursed! Oh, and right on about the cooking. No matter how beautiful the food on the shows, mine always turns out one of three slightly varying shades of brown. I think I actually accompanied you to said yarn shop to purchase the ill-fated Malabrigo in question (which, had you asked me before, I would have suggested was a kind of toy dog or a soft cheese). I distinctly recall our heading to Masala Art for lunch and, finding the suspiciously complicit Indian restaurant just a few minutes from opening, I heard the words “yarn store” and “you don’t mind do you,” and the next I knew I was experiencing flashbacks to accompanying my mother to the grayish-yellow bleakness of the Fabric Store.

Weeks later I took Julie to said yarn store, where we experienced a similar catastrophic fate — the details of which I am sworn to secrecy on pain of death (or at least strong glaring). Clearly I must be yarn-store-cursed!

Oh, and right on about the cooking. No matter how beautiful the food on the shows, mine always turns out one of three slightly varying shades of brown.

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