The first time I started The Sweater That The Universe Denied, I had a different pattern all together. Yes, back in those days, those lovely skeins of Prairie-shaded yarn had a different fate.
But The Universe looked down at the project I had begun and said, "Well, you've had some good projects lately. They've gone very well for you. We think you need a change."
The Universe's use of the royal 'we' was very intimidating. Its deep, resonating tone caused me to misinterpret the pattern I was following on size 8 needles with 140 stitches per row. The error was not brought to light until several days and three inches of sweater later. I screamed, pulled at my hair and clothes, poured ashes on my head and ripped the newborn stitches out.
Three weeks later, I decided perhaps the sweater could use another try, what with a three-day weekend ahead of me. With an easier, more user-friendly pattern in hand, I cast on with a vengeance. An afternoon's work resulted in another lovely three inches of sweater, much quicker than the previous attempt. I was delighted at the beauty of what I had begun.
My boyfriend and I, house-sitting for four lovely animals, had a steak dinner that couldn't be beat, cleaned up the dishes and sat down to an evening of Scrubs.
...Or that was the plan.
"Honey, I don't think you're going to like this."
Oh God, I thought, approaching the TV room. What happened to my knitting?
From the doorway, I saw one of the animals had yanked my knitting from the bag on the couch and viciously attacked it - poor, defenseless sweater - until the works were severed from the ball of yarn.
"I think one of the cats got ahold of it, but I think it's okay." Boyfriend winces in sympathy. And then I see the needle. My eyes widen and rage begins to set in. The wooden knitting needle is splintered, dented, and generally destroyed.
"Ha!" the Universe laughed. "Thought you were going to get away with it, did you? Forget who's in charge, did you?"
Yes, the dog had gotten ahold of my knitting, not the cat. And by chewing up the needle, I couldn't even remove what I had worked on to salvage it. Yes, I could have undone each stitch and tied the yarn back to the ball. But I was disgusted, and livid, and so I trashed it.
You see, The Universe had clearly interfered - the room in which my knitting resided had been tightly closed when I last left. It was The Universe which opened the door for the pup who needed a chew toy. And The Universe may sleep well tonight, but we'll see what it does next time I start my sweater again. It can't bar me forever - can it?