Death hats

Last Thursday at midnight, Hat Wars began.

My task was to knit a hat and send it to my target to "kill" her. At the same time, my assassin was knitting a hat to "kill" me with. It's a vicious, vicious cycle of hats, knitting needles and death.

The patterns actually went live at 11 p.m. Thursday my time, and I was absolutely committed to getting that hat in the mail on Friday. I scanned the patterns and picked the one that looked challenging but not impossible, with a cable pattern to keep me on my toes. I cast on that night and knit the ribbed (resisting a "for her pleasure" joke ... resisting ... resisting ... oh, I guess I already made it, didn't it?) brim for as long as I could stay awake.

I woke up groggy the next morning and kept knitting. And knitting. And knitting. At about 2 p.m., it stopped being fun and turned into a chore. I had a house to clean. I had papers to grade, PowerPoints to create, lessons to plan. I had cats to pet! But no. I ignored the stack of dishes in the sink and the pile of work on the table. I removed the cats from my lap as they each jumped up to see what had me so engrossed. I was. Going. To get. This. Done.

And I did! With 20 minutes before the post office closed, I raced out of the house to mail a gorgeous, forest green hat to my target. Actually finishing it and putting it in them mail perked up my mood considerably.

And I killed my target, whose hat arrived on Monday. Of course, my death hat arrived on Tuesday. So my target's dead, I'm dead, and my assassin is dead, too, killed by yet another assassin knitter.

Never, ever cross a knitter.