There are times when I think my needlework is conspiring against me.
Today was one of those days.
A little background: if I'm working on a project with a relatively limited thread and/or color palette, I usually thread up a needle with each thread and/or color I'm going to use and stick it in the pincushion next to the wing chair. As soon as I finish using that color, I can stick the still-threaded needle back in the pincushion until I need it again. Also, if I am working on a design element in a project and it has the same motif throughout the element, I usually work all of the same color through the motifs--after all, I have the stitch count and position in my head and it just seems more efficient.
Today I was working on a design element in the Obligation Stitching that has five identical motifs. Each motif used four colors, plus a fifth color used to sew a couple of beads to each motif. No two colors had the same number of stitches in the motif.
So, I started with the first color. I had enough thread in the needle to work that color through four of the five motifs when I ran out. I didn't think much about it, just threaded the needle again and worked the fifth motif.
Then I picked up the second color. I had enough thread in the needle to work that color through four of the five motifs when I ran out. Again. And this one did not have the same number of stitches as the first color did, but I had used the second color elsewhere before. I sort of muttered, "Good grief," and threaded the needle again.
Then I picked up the third color. I had enough thread to work that color through four of the five motifs---do you see where this is going? This time I said a slightly more emphatic word and threaded the needle with the third color. Dearly Beloved looked up with a somewhat quizzical look on his face and I explained what had happened. He chuckled and went back to his book.
Then I picked up the fourth color.
I do not need to tell you what happened. This time I let a rude and crude Anglo-Saxon word fly. (These are called "technical terms" and are sometimes required while embroidering.) Dearly Beloved started laughing. A lot. I threaded the needle. Again. And worked the fifth motif.
All I had to do now was stitch two small beads on each motif with the fifth color. With gritted teeth, I picked up the fifth threaded needle and got the beads on the bead pad, and started.
It happened again. Unbelievable. I mean, REALLY unbelievable. This time I just looked up from my frame. Dearly Beloved choked, snorted, and ran from the room. I could still hear the guffaws from behind the closed door.
My only explanation is that I am being punished for taking the day off yesterday. Or there is an evil thread conspiracy. Or both.
(P.S. Mary Agnes, I finished the rest of the laundry today. With my threads conspiring against me, it seemed safer.)