White trash knitters

About me:

It starts here. I walked into the local knitting shop. It’s a cute place. Its owner appears to have once been a hippie, and still keeps the peace, love and free spirit ideals in her long gray hair and her voice that is ever so relaxed and welcoming. She has a clairvoyant air about her - she can almost sense who is in love, who is worried or who is lonely. Or maybe I’m just easy to read. I was new to town. I was lonely. I said not a word of it, but she invited me to her book club and knitting classes and made me feel at home. I never made it to the knitting classes or the book club, but I did become a regular customer. One day we started talking about particularly interesting items we knit. I proudly mentioned that I make personalized beer cozies. The owner’s mouth flew open in loud uncontained laughter and said, “That’s GREAT! White trash knitting!” My beaming pride quickly fell into embarrassment. Although I know she did not mean anything hurtful, somehow I felt less accomplished as a knitter, and that I didn’t fit here. I strolled up the block to my favorite coffee shop. Over a large skim vanilla latte I decided to fight back. I like knitting beer cozies. I like drinking beer. I like that I grew up near “5 Dollah Hollah”” and that there is a “crick” rather than a creek behind my house. I am proud to knit beer cozies and I am proud to be a white trash knitter. From that day, I went on a quest to find others who didn’t fear cheap beer or imperfect verb agreement. This is the story of what I found. This is the story of the white trash knitters.