"I'm knitting a uterus."

My friend Gretchen knits uteri.

She emailed me and said she was going to send me one of her knit uteri, but when the box arrived there were two, along with a note explaining that she couldn't bear the sight of one lonely uterus in a box, so there you go.

I have previously noted that diagrams of the female reproductive anatomy make me think of someone performing jazz hands, but Gretchen's uteri are different. Gretchen's hand-crafted uteri go beyond a simple dance move, although they do look as though they might spring into a series of cartwheels any minute.

I love the way Gretchen's uteri victoriously display their fallopian tubes, the way they reach for the sky instead of drooping downward. I love the way the ovaries beckon the world like waving hands.


My friend Gretchen's uteri are proud of what they are.

Gretchen's uteri are so powerful they somehow soften the weirdly angular word uteri, which in any context other than being assigned to a knit cartwheeling reproductive plush, might evoke intimidating medical journals or unfriendly aliens from an ancient Star Trek episode.

Gretchen told me that, when asked what she is doing when she is knitting a uterus, answering with, "I'm knitting a uterus," gives her singular satisfaction. Who could argue? Not me. Hence the title of this post.

I am unsure what I will do with my two uteri. For now, it's easy enough just to bask in this honeymoon period, during which my humble household becomes accustom to the uteri and vice versa.

That is all.

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Knitting the American dream

I'm taking up knitting.

I'm not talking sitting in the family room and knitting like you're-getting-ready-to-die knitting. I'm talking a free market venture. I'm talking small business.

Who in America doesn't like a chick opening a small business? Who doesn't want to see a new knitting shop open up in America? America is totally pro-knit.

Nothing too cutesy, just a cool little boutique with an outside-the-box retro vibe. Of course we'll have your knitting supplies: your yarns, your needles, your patterns.

We'll also sell your novelties: psychedelic gift items, water pipes, flavored rolling papers. Maybe even an adult backroom with naughty gag gifts and greeting cards with dirty pictures.

I'm calling it the Knit 'n Shit.

I like the idea of a pinball machine and an ice-cold-beer-to-go! cooler. I like a couple of candy racks too. And hey, a vendor comes in and wants to put up a fingernail polish display? I'm open to your fringe ideas.

There'll be a lounge area in the back where you can hang around knitting and talking to other knitters. There will always always always be incense burning at the Knit 'n Shit. And I will always always be there, wearing a snazzy scarf around my head or a macramé shawl or gogo boots.

All the knitters will think I am so cool.

Shitty coffee on the house? You bet. And not out of some gleaming professional coffee maker, but from a shitty old Mr. Coffee machine or something like that. With a container of off-brand powdered coffee creamer that's about a thousand years old.

I'm hoping to attract the sort of regulars in the lounge who bring in your occasional plate of homemade cookies. Maybe chocolate chip without chocolate chips, but with m&m's instead of chocolate chips: red, green and yellow happy bombs peeking out from the regular cookie part. You starting to get my gist here?

When I'm not helping customers at the cash register, I'll hang out in back diggin' on what my homies are knitting and saying stuff like you rock, you chickster you or dig that pattern or that's some smokin' textile.

We'll also have a place where regulars can showcase the stuff they made. You're a grandma who wants to put one of those multi-colored sweaters you knit on a hanger for the whole world to see? Come on down to the Knit 'n Shit.

Best get started. Now then, does anyone have a knitting pattern for a peekaboo bra and undie set?

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