Never Judge A Hook By Its Cover

Everybody knows about clothes hangers. You know the legend; leave one alone in a dark wardrobe long enoungh and it will multiply. This is especially true of the wire species of hanger. And we all know that when a piece of toast slides off your plate, it will always land on the side that's spread. Actually, when you think about it, it's amazing how so many inanimate objects go out of their way to annoy us. Glasses are never where you last left them. Keys always go missing when you need them the most (I believe socks use the same tactic, especially with men). And how many tales of horror have you heard about furniture attacking toes in the middle of the night?

Let me tell you about one of the lesser known, yet just as evil, objects de torture; the crochet hook.

Ha! I hear you scoff. Nothing could be more inoffensive. Yeah, right.

A couple of weeks ago, S, my partner, knitted herself a lovely scarf. To finish it off, she wanted to put a fringe on each end. To do this, she needed a crochet hook. As she doesn't possess one, she rang her sister, B, and asked if she could borrow one. A couple of nights later, we subsequently paid B a visit, and picked it up.

The next morning, as I got into the car to go to work, I noticed the hook sitting on the floor of the front passenger's side. Obviously, it had fallen from S's lap unoticed in the dark. It's amazing how we notice omens after the fact, isn't it? I should have been warned then but, instead, I simply picked the hook up, took it inside and gave it to S.

Admittedly, the hook performed the rquired task admirably, and S is now in possession of a really warm looking scarf with a boisterous fringe.

Then came last weekend.

Youngest daughter, E, and I wanted to go to JB Hi Fi. S, who isn't a big fan of browsing through such places, thought she might spend the time with her sister. It would give her a chance to catch up on gossip and, of course, return the crochet hook. This sounded like a plan, so off we went. We had to stop at the police station on the way to fill out some legal forms, but eventually we dropped S off at B's house, and E and I went on to spend a pleasant hour or so looking at music and movies and such.

When we finally made our choices, we went back to pick up S. On walking in the front door, S informed me that she couldn't find the crochet hook and asked if it was in the car somewhere. I went out to have a look. It didn't leap out at me straight away, so I got down low and twisted and turned, trying to see if it was under either of the front seats. Nothing, zip, nada, zilch. No hook.

S was upset at this; she doesn't like the thought of borrowing something then losing it. B said not to worry about it, but S isn't one to let something like this go easily. On the way home, she said how she felt really bad about losing the hook. She swore that she had it in her hand, and couldn't understand where it could have got to. I suggested we just buy another one, but S thought maybe it had fallen out of the car at the police station and could we please go and have a look, and see if we could find it?

Back we went to the police station. I was able to park in the same spot we had previously parked, and S got out and began inspecting the ground. She began to move ahead of where we were parked and I said something about how we didn't park up that far, but I was beginning to suspect that the blasted thing might actually have a life of its own, and had decided to torment us by absconding. S searched diligently, but eventually had to admit defeat. The crochet hook was nowhere to be seen. E suggested maybe somebody had found it and handed it in at the police station. Somehow, though, I think the thought of actually walking up to the officer behind the counter and asking if someone has handed in a crochet hook proved too embarrassing for all concerned, and we just wrote the item off as lost.

We finally arrived home. E opened up the house, and was first through the door. I was next. I happened to look down, and lo and behold! Sitting on the threshold, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in its crook, was the elusive crochet hook. The damn thing hadn't even left home. And I swear it was bloody smiling.

So, the next time you haul out that unfinished crochet project, or are about to start one, remember this tale and take precautions. Put your crochet hook on a short leash before it starts heading for the hills. Or wherever it is that inanimate objects go when they don't want to be found.