Dumpster Diving

And it came to pass that the Dulaan sweater reached the top of the shoulders and, wishing to postpone the task of unearthing my long disused sewing machine in order to stabilize the steeks, I turned my gaze elsewhere. And it became apparent that somewhere in the long mists of the last ten days, the current Vogue Knitting had passed out of all thought or knowledge. Things were forgotten that ought not to have been forgotten, and though I searched high and low, yet it eluded me.

Then the Man arose, and said "I tell you, the giant stack of paper recycling which thou hast been sorting these many days resides yet in the big blue dumpster by the garage." And being consumed with my need for the patterns to two half-finished sweaters, I did venture into its depths. As I pawed through the murk, my inner eye became aware of a strange flashing behind me, and turning, I beheld with dismay that the Man stood with camera aloft and a strange smile - nay, a leer - of triumph on his visage.

"Man," I said, "doubtless thou art fond of thy sword and would desire future occasion to unsheath it. I have, therefore, a proposition. Ere thou return tomorrow from thy labours in the sky, thou shalt venture - in uniform - to the Drugmart of Shoppers and purchase a replacement copy of that which I seek. For such is the doom of Men."