Today I've already frogged half an entire half of a crocheted baby blanket and it's only lunchtime. It was horrible, worse than those mushroom ladies with visible underwear that everyone had on their lawns in rural Maine in the eighties. I had such high hopes for it, too, my blanket. Harvard, Wharton, a tudor in Shaker Heights with an inground pool. Now, it's in the frog pond in Rhode Island. Lucky I can still show you guys a coffee cup.