Third Time's a Charm

Once upon a time, a young and lonely snowflake designer knit a sweater for a guy.

This was many, many years ago, long before the secret of the Curse of the Sweater had been identified. Nevertheless, the guy, who had consistently insisted to the snowflake designer for nearly two years he could never have a girlfriend, found a girlfriend, the very week he and the snowflake designer were to embark upon their first ski outting. He took the new girlfriend instead.

All those months of swearing never, ever to date or fall in love because he just couldn't. Then magically appeared a girlfriend who didn't crochet, knit, sew, design, write poetry, decorate her whole house with snowflakes, ride a bicycle almost every day, go to church on Sundays or serve as mom to a pair of special needs adopted kids.

The snowflake designer was crushed. She had been willing to "just be friends" until she became the third wheel. Then being friends was just too darned awkward. And foolish.

The snowflake designer made sweaters for her adopted kids and resolved she'd live lonely forever.

Then one day, a cyclist of the male persuasion stopped her on the bike path to tell her she had a beautiful bike. That it belonged in a museum. Because it was a department store bike. And the gears wouldn't shift. He asked her if she'd like to play chess. They played chess. She won. They played chess again. He won. They dated for six months. Ever aware of the six-month curse, the one in which relationships not suitable for long-term magically vanish when that 183-day-mark hits, she was shocked when six months later, they were still dating!

A month later, they were still dating!

So she made him a sweater. He wore it. And then during their next bicycle ride together, he picked up another girl. Another cyclist. One much younger. With no kids in tow. The snowflake designer didn't know if the gorgeous and curvaceous pedaler could knit or crochet or sew or even if she went to church on Sundays, but she spoke with a French accent, and she was much faster than the snowflake designer.

Sigh.

The snowflake designer made more sweaters for her kids. And she assumed she'd be alone forever.

Her nest eventually emptied, and she knitted a sweater for herself. Then she crocheted a sweater for herself. She made a quilt for herself. And she sewed some really awesome dresses. She climbed some mountains. She took a bunch of pictures. She tried to pretend she was happy.


Suddenly, in the middle of a red rock desert, a colorful lizard captured her attention. She kissed him, and he turned into a cyclist. Who didn't care if she had two kids and went to church on Sundays and had snowflakes in every room of her apartment. He asked if she'd like to ride with him. Then he made her dinner. He wrote a note on her calendar: "Can we have lots more dates?"

Six months later, they were still dating!

So she threw caution to the wind and made him a sweater. Then a scarf. And then a matching hat.

He married her.

And he still wears the sweater!

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