Crabbycrost

I reached for the stitch marker, but instead of a thin twist of plastic my fingers were met with a cozy expanse of crochet. I glanced down. Not a stitch marker in sight.

There was definitely a marker there a minute ago. Patting around the area, I tried to quell the looming truth: I had lost it somewhere in the rolling monstrosity that was a king-sized blanket to be. Bowing my head in defeat I began to shake out the blanket, muttering to myself.

It always made me mad when this happened. Well, mad wasn’t quite the right word, it was more of a “crabby”. However “crabby” put one in mind of a toddler, and I wasn’t having a full meltdown over my missing stitch marker - at least not yet. As I looked I started to list synonyms, searching for the right word as well as the marker.

Crabby

Cranky

Grumpy

Peeved

Dour

Sour

Petulant

Cross

It became a bouncy little chant as I continued to look for the stitch marker. It wasn’t on the couch or the floor, or even stuck to my clothes. I kept chanting.

“Cross, cross, crabby, cross, crost, crabby, crabby crabby crost. Crabbycrost!” I crowed as I spotted the marker clinging to a section of blanket.

I trundled back to the couch with my stitch marker, satisfied with my successful hunt and new word.