The scene, earlier this evening, in a questionable north-end pub:
A tall, blond woman, wearing glasses, is sitting at the bar, reading a very large book and manipulating what appears to be five skewers and some fine string. She's drinking a beer, minding her own business. Nobody's really paying much attention to her. The staff are busy, other patrons are playing the trivia, visiting, or just drowning their sorrows in drink.
Two men enter, both regulars:
The electrician: Hey Misstea, is my peter heater ready?
The tall blond: Only if you're OK with having an orange and pink one. I suspect it's probably a bit big for you (she whips out an even smaller set of skewers and string. It appears to be a hand-knitted sock, but small. Perhaps small enough to fit a two-year-old).
The electrician: Come on Misstea, that is way too small. Can I get a private fitting?
The tall blond: Get in line. All the boys want private fittings.
Later, when she's left her knitting on the bar to pay her tab...
The electrician's friend (picks up the sock): Hey, this is actually really nice.
The tall blond: Of course it's nice. Do you think I spend all this time making crappy stuff?
The electrician's friend (to impress another woman standing at the bar): Well, maybe I could learn to knit socks.
The tall blond: I'm teaching tomorrow from one 'til five.
The electrician's friend: Oh, um, well...
The tall blond thinks to herself: Yup, I'll believe that one, when I see it.
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