Mapquest, by trying to send me someplace not anywhere near where I thought I wanted to go, was actually trying to save me from myself.

I thought I wanted to go to Michaels Arts and Crap. I wanted to hang a wreath from each of my windows. That’s a lot of wreaths. “They’re high-up,” I figured. “I’ll get fakes. No one will know.”

I went through the Post ads and found one for Michaels. Michaels used to be an ok place. No store addresses on the flyer, so I went to their website as instructed. The store locator on their site didn’t work.

I knew that one of these places is somewhere on Route One. I failed to retrieve a map on Mapquest, so I called
information and then called the store. (It’s not in the phonebook, of course. Another sign to stay home missed).

I got directions, got in the car, and ended up at a Ford dealership. This happens all the time, since apparently
someone at Michael’s doesn’t want people finding them.

I escaped the Ford dealership without a new Mustang and found the proper shopping center.

Satan smiled fondly on this particular plaza de commerce. It only contained two establishments: Michaels and Chucky Cheese. I skirted the scary pizza place and entered the very bowels of hell. I do not know what I was thinking. I was so horrified by the shiney, ugly, plastinated nightmare that is what Michael’s has become that I ended up taking refuge in the yarn.

After vowing not only to not hang wreaths, but to not decorate for this or any holiday ever again, I started
to calm down. This is when things should have been getting better, but instead took a turn for the worse.

It was at this point that I decided knitting an afghan was a good idea. I picked a pattern. I picked the yarn.
I can do this. I made my mom an afghan once. A very elaborate one with a celtic knot design.

In the cashier’s line, I remembered that my mother keeps that afghan in her car now. For car trips. “In case she
throws up.” Maybe this was not a good idea after all, maybe Mapquest was trying to tell me something.