Before we enter our new exhibit, we at the Museum of Kitschy Stitches would like to apologize for the lack of an exhibit last month. The media has reported that we were experiencing plumbing problems, but as loyal museum members, we felt we owed you the truth. And now that the epidemic has been contained, we can finally share the facts. Unfortunately, we experienced a serious outbreak of yarn sores in January. It was a tragic, yet eerily cheerful scene as this acrylic plague tore through our offices and galleries. Everyone was covered in colorful tufts, from the receptionist to the security guards. Believe us when we say that a guard covered in fuzzy, rainbow-colored puffballs is not an effective deterrent to would-be thieves. Our receptionist, Tammy, on the other hand, really enjoyed herself and coordinated outfits to match her daily outcropping of fluffy sores. Eventually the Center for Disease Control had to become involved. Armed with sweater shavers, they worked tirelessly until the problem was eradicated. We have all received vaccinations and do not expect another outbreak. We do, however, expect Tammy to continue pouting. We all appreciate your patience during this trying time.
And now, we are proud to present a brand new exhibit that is of a very personal nature. Our very own Stitchy McYarnpants recently attended the McYarnpants family reunion and has documented it so we may all share in her rich family tradition. Join us in the We Are Fam-i-ly Cafe, will you?
As I entered the Knits of Columbus* hall, the sound of the Pointer Sisters’ We Are Family pounded through the air. I immediately turned around, got back into my car and drove home. After 20 minutes of furious pacing in my living room, I returned to the McYarnpants family reunion. The Pointer Sisters were still going on about their sisters and them. It was going to be a long night. As usual, very few of the McYarnpants men bothered to show up, which left me wondering if they had switched to wearing khakis and were ashamed.
*The Knits of Columbus was founded by my great grandfather, Zachariah McYarnpants.
The first McYarnpant to accost me was the swinging divorcee, Mandy McYarnpants. Since splitting with her ex-husband, Irving, she’s gotten waaay back into her roots. She only wears what she can knit. She’s working in a pair of lopi platform sandals to achieve complete yarnification. Unfortunatley for all of us, Mandy has never mastered the art of knitting undergarments. I hastily excused myself and tried not to gawk as she boogied down and flopped around.
As I turned, I ran right into Helen McYarnpants. A very distant and mysterious cousin, she prides herself on the geometry of her pantsuits. “My legs look like perfect tubes” she whispered, as she gently touched my face with her gloved hands. “The lines match up perfectly on the arms and the tubes.” She pulled my face close and confided “The bottom of the sweater is equidistant with the space between the stripes.” And with that, she drifted away. It was one of the more pleasant encounters I would have that evening.
A drink was overdue at this point, so I headed to the cash bar. Seated in the lounge was Aunt Sassy (her real name is Stacey, but everyone calls her Sassy). Ever the sex kitten, she hasn’t aged a day since anyone can remember. Oddly, she always appears somewhat monochromatic, but it looks good on her. “Well if it isn’t little Stitchy.” she purred, “Why don’t you get Aunt Sassy another Irish Coffee and tell me all about it.” Unsure about what “it” was, I complied and spent the better part of our conversation watching her primp and posture. The woman can really work a pair of wool leggings, I’ll give her that. Fantastic ribs and cabled striping. She’s a helluva McYarnpant. But she has an unnerving way of looking at you like you’re a tasty chicken leg, so I moved on.
Nearby, I was surprised to see the black sheep of our family, Trisha McYarnpants. Also known among the cousins as “Trashy McNopants”. Her mother disowned her, but apparently she’s still on the family email list.
And then it happened. The one person I didn’t want to see was suddenly filling my entire field of vision. It was my uncle Bibba’s third wife, Mitzi Stiffle-McYarnpants. Mitzi is the cute-n-spunky drummer for The Giggles. They make upbeat music about self-esteem and proper hygiene. When I asked if it was music for kids, she squeaked and said, “No, silly. It’s for EVERYbody!” and poked my nose with her drumstick. She also believes that humans can fly if they love enough. She never stops trying. I have no idea what her outfit was knit from, but she was leaving strange marks everywhere she sat. I think it might have been a cheddar/sandpaper blend.
Mitzi has issues.
Luckily, I was rescued by my niece, Erin McYarnpants. She’s a sweet girl, despite the fact that ever since a nasty bump on the head she thinks she’s a true leprechaun. She’s always on about rainbows and clovers and pots o’ gold and her burning hate for Jennifer Aniston. I’m not really sure where the lederhosen fit into the whole thing, but I’m sure she has her own reasons. However, when I got a look at those fantastic boots, well, her luck ran out. I slipped her a Mickey and when she was unconscious, I took off with them.
I’ll give you one guess about what she likes to talk about. All the time. Without stopping. The big-wigs at Disney have actually sent her cease and desist letters. All of the costumed characters at the parks have restraining orders against her. She’s even banned from owning pet mice (this is a long and disturbing story). She was especially proud of her new outfit and explained as she danced to the Pointer Sisters. You see, it looks just like frosting on a cake! A Mickey Mouse cake! It’s Mickey Mouse just the greatest? Her favorite kinds of cakes are ones with pictures of Mickey Mouse on them. Her favorite kind of anything is the kind with Mickey Mouse on it. She thought it would be great if Mickey Mouse were singing We Are Family instead of the Pointer Sisters. She wishes Mickey Mouse was part of our family. Then he would have been there that night. This was about when Erin hit the floor and I got a new pair of boots. And baby, those boots were made for walking, so I walked right out the door.
Thanks for joining me on this adventure! In the immortal words of Dorothy Parker, “This wasn’t just plain terrible, this was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it.”