Spreading the Christmas Spirit

Oh, I know you thought I was gone, or drunk on eggnog (watch yourself candsmom I know where you knit). But I've been hiding here, plotting my next move.



This tree is so blinding with literally a million lights they haven't noticed me here by the Santa Bell. (Seriously there are a million lights. I've counted every stinkin' light. How else do you think I've occupied myself sitting up here)

I've been working my special brand of evil in quiet ways. Taking apart her socks and re-casting them in a smaller size so they wouldn't fit. Manipulating button holes so no button on earth would pass through properly, they are all either too large or too small. She's now searching for that holy grail of buttons. Like the real chalice, it doesn't exist.

But my most beautiful display of treachery is the havoc I have visited upon her latest sweater. She should have realized it was knitting too beautifully. I was helping her knit, that's why it was knitting so quickly. But my version of helping greatly differs from the accepted definition. She finished the back, both of the sleeves and half the front. She laid them out this morning to take pictures. The body is looking good.



But imagine her shock and horror as she laid out her sleeves and discovered this.



There was much swearing about a faulty row counter. A few tears. Then some muttering about "fucking Boyd" as she frogged the sweater.

She is currently tearing the basement apart looking for me.



*insert evil laugh here* It will be hours before she returns to her yarn. She never looks in the most obvious places.

Lest you think I am completely without a heart. Here is some Christmas Joy.





Merry Christmas to you and your family.

Love,

Boyd