09/13/2026
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/19RmwAHBom/?mibextid=wwXIfr
THE TEACUP TATTLER
THE HOOKERS & THE KNITTERS
Dearest Gentle Reader,
Since we are on a roll talking about the different shopping species, let’s talk about this one.
The Ho**ers and the Knitters.
Before you clutch your pearls, compose yourself.
We mean rug hookers.
Although from what Lady Spillington has observed, this clarification does little to improve their reputation.
Directly across from Spill the Tea sits Lady Christine at Encompassing Designs, giving me an excellent view of what appears to be organized wool activity.
And Gentle Reader…
THOSE WOMEN ARE NEXT LEVEL.
I watch them go in.
Respectable women.
Coats buttoned. Handbags tucked neatly under their arms.
Twenty minutes later?
Fondling fibre.
Squeezing it.
Stroking it.
Rubbing it against their cheeks.
“Feel this.”
“Ooooooh.”
And now we’ve lost two of them.
Never let them shop in pairs.
“I really shouldn’t.”
“GET IT.”
“I have fourteen unfinished projects.”
“Lady Christine only has three left.”
GET. THE. CAR.
And don’t call anything blue.
That is Atlantic Fog Over Peggy’s Cove Just Before Supper.
Brown?
Weathered Barn Door Following a Difficult Harvest.
Beige?
How vulgar.
Dowager Oatmeal.
Apparently wool has a peerage.
The Ho**ers are particularly alarming.
I see an old coat.
They see a field.
An old skirt?
Barn roof.
Plaid trousers?
Lighthouse.
These women could dismantle a man’s wardrobe and have him hanging on the wall by Christmas.
“Has anyone seen Gerald’s good jacket?”
Gerald. Don’t ask questions.
Then there are the Knitters.
They come armed.
Click click click.
“Margaret left her husband.”
Click click click.
“NO!”
Click click.
“Ran off with the plumber.”
Click click click.
And somewhere between adultery and the septic system…
A SLEEVE HAS APPEARED.
If the knitters ever organize politically, surrender.
They have needles.
And then there is THE STASH.
Do not call it hoarding.
Wool in baskets.
Wool under beds.
Wool in cupboards.
Wool in the car.
Witness-protection wool.
Yet she enters Lady Christine’s:
“I need yarn.”
Madam.
You have enough wool to put a sweater on the Bluenose.
You don’t need yarn.
You need zoning approval.
Still, I admire them.
A Ho**er takes scraps and creates art.
A Knitter takes string and creates clothing.
Lady Spillington takes string and creates a knot requiring scissors and pastoral counselling.
So I shall continue watching from across the street as they enter Lady Christine’s carrying handbags and emerge…
looking like they’ve robbed a sheep.
Then into Spill the Tea they come:
“I only went in for one thing.”
Of course you did, darling.
And Lady Spillington shall say nothing.
Because some lies are simply too beautiful to correct.
Yours in tea, textiles & watching the hookers across the street,
Lady Spillington