The twelve step meeting is getting ready to start and I look around the room. I see women wearing an assortment of handmade fashion items, lots of knit pieces and homemade jewelry. They are carrying decoupage cigar box purses with beaded handles. Most of the women sit with their bandaged hands in their laps and wait for the meeting to start, others chat nervously while they wait. The room is filled with the smell of burnt coffee and a slight hint of homemade potpourri. It’s not a good combination and my head begins to hurt. As I look around I realize that we are all the victims of the new Arts and Crafts movement sweeping the suburbs. When we can’t find joy in our boring over-scheduled lives we make things. Some of us turn to yarn and beads, others arrange flowers and scrap book. Regardless of the poison, we are lost souls who have come to the basement of the Dwyer Senior Center to find salvation through Craftaholics Anonymous.

My fingers still hurt from the night before. I dozed off after twelve hours of knitting. Doug found me crunched up in the living room chair covered with fuzz and glitter. I opened my eyes to find his red face hanging over me. ”Jesus Christ, I thought we were done with all of this. We all have enough knit scarves. Jake looks like a pussy in his. Fourteen-year-old boys should not wear fuzz and fringe. His friends tease him but he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. I have one, my sister has one, my mom has one, my dad has one, the Orkin Man has one we don’t need any more scarves. Oh, and remember that knit tie you made for me that you were constantly on my case about wearing to work? You were so happy the day I wore it.  Of course it had to be the day I was photographed for the company newsletter. Now, Frank from accounting has the picture of me wearing it as his screen saver. He says he looks at it whenever he wants to remember what he was wearing in 1984. The point is we are all suffering here. I am begging you. Please stop knitting.”

In a quivering voice I tried to explain that I had to knit the scarves for the PTA Christmas Craft Blitz at Jake’s school. “I only have two more weeks. They are expecting me to fill a whole eight foot table with scarves. I am not going to make it. Oh, and for the record, knit ties are back.” He yanked me up and forced me to look into the dining room where our table held the evidence of my addiction. He grabbed my head and turned it so I could look into the kitchen. The kitchen table had disappeared as well. “You have enough. We used to eat on the kitchen table. When was the last time you put hot food in front of your son? The laundry is piling up and people are starting to ask me if you are agoraphobic.

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