Saturday afternoon:  DH and I are running some errands together, so he is driving and I am knitting.  He turns into the Home Depot parking lot, finds a spot, switches off the engine.  Usually he walks around the back of the vehicle, and meets me there — but this time he stayed in his seat, waiting for me to finish.

I’m knitting in the round, and as it happens I have just reached the end of the round  — so I slip my marker, and of course I must work a couple of stitches of the next round, to keep the marker in place.  This particular project is nice and rhythmic, K1-P1 rib, so it’s kind of compelling.  Certainly I couldn’t knit just ONE more stitch:  in my (slightly OCD) world, every K must be followed by its accompanying P.  And then another K, and another P…  OK, OK, so maybe it was 5 or 6 stitches past the marker.  Big deal.

There’s a split second between the moment when my brain decides "OK, stop now" and the moment when my hands actually stop knitting — and in that split second I hear DH say accusingly:

Hey, I know that’s a stitch marker, and you just blew RIGHT PAST IT!!