Once upon a time, in a land not so far from here, lived a knitter. This knitter would knit before breakfast while drinking her morning coffee. She would knit during sales calls. She would knit while she should have been cooking dinner. She would knit at 3:30 in the morning when she could not sleep. She knit mittens and sweaters and socks and scarves. She knit with wool and cotton and bamboo and angora. And the knitter was very happy.
One day, the knitter decided that even though her coworkers politely responsed to her knitted creations, and her family enjoyed their knitted gifts, and her husband tolerated her quickly growing stash, she needed some knitting friends. Friends who understood the meanings of words like "handpainted" and "gauge" and "swatch". Friends that could argue for or against the integrity of moss stitch. This knitter was looking for friends that got it.
The knitter decided that she should most likely look in the place where other knitters might happen to be. A yarn shop. During a Knitting Night. And there they were. She found social working knitters, nursing knitters, bus driving knitters, homemaking knitters, banking knitters and spinning knitters. They were knitting beautiful lacy shawls, heirloom baby layette sets, thick hiking socks, well-fitting sweaters, practical dishcloths and cozy hats. The knitter immediately liked them all.
The knitter came back, week after week. And after about a month, the knitter realized that the yarn shop was for sale. She thought, "Now, wouldn't that be interesting. What if this was my life? What would it be like to be surrounded by color and fiber all day long, and to share this thing that is so much bigger than me (I think it is called love) with my entire community?"
So the knitter took a leap of faith. She bought the yarn shop. She meets friends on a regular basis who understand "frogging" and "dk" and are crazy about knitting socks. She still knits while talking on the phone. And she still loves it to this very day.