Several years and one laptop ago, I was on a mission. Our bath mat was getting frayed and I decided that I would do what any sane and sensible person would do. I would knit a new one.
Just imagine it! Luxurious organic cotton in whatever colors and stitches I chose! It would be the perfect touch to our bathroom, transforming the nasty rental linoleum into an oasis for feet just out of the shower.
As I had this remarkable revelation during a rare bout of insomnia (there is no connection between the two, really. Right?) I had many late-night hours to peruse the internet at my leisure for ideas and patterns. And, as is usually the case with most of my internet missions, I got completely sidetracked by the most appalling acrylic monstrosities - toilet tank covers in peach and teal with white ruffles, seat covers knit with faces or flowers, and my perennial favorite, the toilet paper cozy, in every imaginable color, style and theme. I am a sucker for the horrid, the tacky, the painstakingly precise and labor-intensive debacle; so deeper and deeper down this spiraling rabbit hole I delved, slack-jawed in equal parts admiration and fear.
For those of you not well-versed in the fiber arts, these sorts of bright and cheerful acrylic crimes are almost exclusively the purview of old ladies. And, bless their hearts, you know all of their friends and relatives have at least one of these toxic goodies stashed in the back of a closet somewhere awaiting the apocalypse, where the TP cozy and the roaches will be the only things that survive.
And then, in the middle of the night, completely unsuspecting, it hit. I clicked on a link for "Fair Isle Tank Warmer" or some such and after stalling a bit, my computer gave me a pair of impossibly large breasts. What? No thank you. I'm not much interested in Hawt Teen Chixxx, thank you very much. So I closed the window, feeling just a little bit startled. And then it happened. With my little click of the red X, I set off an avalanche of porn such as I have never seen. My computer, seemingly uncontrollably, regurgitated page after page after page of porn, one on top of another. This wasn't good porn, either. It was the low-budget, grainy, amateur variety with no thought for web design or photographic techniques.
I sat in shock as wave after wave assaulted my screen and my poor, weary eyeballs. Why would that be embedded in a knitting pattern? A knitting pattern predominately for old ladies and freaks like me? I tried to stem the tide, to no avail and panicked about whether or not I'd had my email open at the time. Had I infected my mother-in-law? My church group? I had the sinking fear that all of my nearest and dearest would open messages from me in the morning full of knee socks and ponytails and lollipops, if you know what I mean. After frantically fighting with the computer and attempting some home remedies, I finally just shut it off and passed out in exhaustion.
The next morning, when my husband came down to find me on the couch, tangled in the computer cords, I barely lifted my head and croaked: "Don't let the kids touch the laptop. It's very, very sick." And I passed out again, completely drained of all my resources.
Later in the day, when I was a little more awake and less in shock, I decided there was nothing to do for it except to wipe the whole hard drive - empty it out and start fresh. So I took it to the professionals and went about the rest of my life kind of shaky and reeling. There were the inevitable questions from my husband: What were you doing? What kind of link did you click? Did you enter a credit card number? And from the kids: Why did you break the computer? Why can't we just play with it a little bit? How long until we get it back?
My poor laptop returned to me, empty and lean and all better. The porn-valanche from a few nights before seemed to have subsided and disappeared. For several days we were gentle with it, vigilant for signs of further infection, afraid to search anything too rigorously for fear of relapse. It was only with the passing of time that we were able to finally resume our normal activities without fear. And before long, I was back to searching knitting patterns again. (Except not for bath mats because I found a gloriously soft, white, organic cotton one on clearance for a fraction of the cost of the yarn. Also because I spent my yarn budget on de-toxing the laptop. Let this be a lesson to you.)
Well, this tale of porn and woe about sums up my last week. Except without the porn and the knitting patterns and the laptop. These middle-of-the-night unexpected visitors almost always bring doom. I wish I had intestines made of acrylic yarn so they could survive the apocalypse.
Just imagine it! Luxurious organic cotton in whatever colors and stitches I chose! It would be the perfect touch to our bathroom, transforming the nasty rental linoleum into an oasis for feet just out of the shower.
As I had this remarkable revelation during a rare bout of insomnia (there is no connection between the two, really. Right?) I had many late-night hours to peruse the internet at my leisure for ideas and patterns. And, as is usually the case with most of my internet missions, I got completely sidetracked by the most appalling acrylic monstrosities - toilet tank covers in peach and teal with white ruffles, seat covers knit with faces or flowers, and my perennial favorite, the toilet paper cozy, in every imaginable color, style and theme. I am a sucker for the horrid, the tacky, the painstakingly precise and labor-intensive debacle; so deeper and deeper down this spiraling rabbit hole I delved, slack-jawed in equal parts admiration and fear.
For those of you not well-versed in the fiber arts, these sorts of bright and cheerful acrylic crimes are almost exclusively the purview of old ladies. And, bless their hearts, you know all of their friends and relatives have at least one of these toxic goodies stashed in the back of a closet somewhere awaiting the apocalypse, where the TP cozy and the roaches will be the only things that survive.
And then, in the middle of the night, completely unsuspecting, it hit. I clicked on a link for "Fair Isle Tank Warmer" or some such and after stalling a bit, my computer gave me a pair of impossibly large breasts. What? No thank you. I'm not much interested in Hawt Teen Chixxx, thank you very much. So I closed the window, feeling just a little bit startled. And then it happened. With my little click of the red X, I set off an avalanche of porn such as I have never seen. My computer, seemingly uncontrollably, regurgitated page after page after page of porn, one on top of another. This wasn't good porn, either. It was the low-budget, grainy, amateur variety with no thought for web design or photographic techniques.
I sat in shock as wave after wave assaulted my screen and my poor, weary eyeballs. Why would that be embedded in a knitting pattern? A knitting pattern predominately for old ladies and freaks like me? I tried to stem the tide, to no avail and panicked about whether or not I'd had my email open at the time. Had I infected my mother-in-law? My church group? I had the sinking fear that all of my nearest and dearest would open messages from me in the morning full of knee socks and ponytails and lollipops, if you know what I mean. After frantically fighting with the computer and attempting some home remedies, I finally just shut it off and passed out in exhaustion.
The next morning, when my husband came down to find me on the couch, tangled in the computer cords, I barely lifted my head and croaked: "Don't let the kids touch the laptop. It's very, very sick." And I passed out again, completely drained of all my resources.
Later in the day, when I was a little more awake and less in shock, I decided there was nothing to do for it except to wipe the whole hard drive - empty it out and start fresh. So I took it to the professionals and went about the rest of my life kind of shaky and reeling. There were the inevitable questions from my husband: What were you doing? What kind of link did you click? Did you enter a credit card number? And from the kids: Why did you break the computer? Why can't we just play with it a little bit? How long until we get it back?
My poor laptop returned to me, empty and lean and all better. The porn-valanche from a few nights before seemed to have subsided and disappeared. For several days we were gentle with it, vigilant for signs of further infection, afraid to search anything too rigorously for fear of relapse. It was only with the passing of time that we were able to finally resume our normal activities without fear. And before long, I was back to searching knitting patterns again. (Except not for bath mats because I found a gloriously soft, white, organic cotton one on clearance for a fraction of the cost of the yarn. Also because I spent my yarn budget on de-toxing the laptop. Let this be a lesson to you.)
Well, this tale of porn and woe about sums up my last week. Except without the porn and the knitting patterns and the laptop. These middle-of-the-night unexpected visitors almost always bring doom. I wish I had intestines made of acrylic yarn so they could survive the apocalypse.
Ok minor panic, never search cute knitted items again!!! Also off to back up my hard drive on the off chance I click on something equally innocuous looking yet equally toxic ;-)
ReplyDeleteHope you are well now?!
Doing much better, thank you.
DeleteThere really is no way to know for sure when the nasty will strike. That's what makes it particularly nasty.
Yikes! How does that stuff even happen?
ReplyDeleteI got no yarn and no patterns and no desire for knitted bathroom anything - will that protect me?
Probably you'd do well to wash your hands a lot and not let anyone touch anything you are going to eat, drink, or wear. ;)
DeleteBoo for viruses of any kind. I hope you don't have to spend your yarn budget (or any kind of budget, for that matter) on de-toxing your non-acrylic intestines, but that you get better, faster, and stronger soon au naturale.
ReplyDeleteThank you, darling. I think I am mostly de-toxed now.
DeleteThe thought of sending porn to your mother-in-law or church group made me laugh laugh laugh. Good grief. I'm glad you are emerging, however gingerly, from your cave of illness and fear. Please don't make any toilet cozies. Just don't.
ReplyDeleteI die. Could you even imagine?
DeleteThere will be no toilet cozies. I don't understand them, but I am fascinated by them nonetheless.
But how many TP cozys did you end up making? And in what colors?
ReplyDeleteAlways the questions that get right to the heart of the matter with you. You can place an order and I'll knit you one up of your very own.
DeleteIt's absurdly easy to go accidentally astray on the internet...just ask the friend of mine who clicked on the wrong link looking for a recipe for popcorn balls. She had a great deal of explaining to do to her boss as well as to the four or five developmentally disabled clients who were standing behind her eagerly awaiting a yummy recipe and who instead were treated to some fairly disturbing pictures.
ReplyDeleteIt's also absurdly easy to contract a whole other sort of virus, particularly when you have school-age children. But you problem already know that. ;)