Dyeing to meet you.

I had set dyeing as the outer limit of my yarn fetish, the Thing I Wouldn't Do, the I-tip-my-hat-to-you,-yarn-dyers-but-I-am- perfectly-happy-with-commercially-dyed-yarn-even-though-it's- probably-made-from-the-blood-of-rats. (Lilyriver describes herself as a grad student with hobbies or a hobbyist dabbling in grad school; unfortunately, given the torturous construction of that last sentence and the sentiments contained therein, both my "grad student" and "crafter" cards have been revoked. I can't go on; I'll go on:) As with all limits, of course, this one falls by the wayside as easily as any Lenten promise. I'm currently eyeing a pound and a half of cream-colored wool yarn on eBay, offered at a suspiciously low price, and thus I have set my eyes on the prize: Kool-Aid. The fruity smell will fade.