Found this while catching up with my knitlist reading...
Date: Sat, 15 Jan 2005 01:35:56 -0000
From: "CRAFTYONE_99" <email@example.com>
Subject: Another Knitting Needle Murder
I read a short story years ago, about an English nurse who was well
into her late fifties, when she had as a private patient, a handsome
and well-off man. He had had a stroke, and she nursed him back to
health. They fell in love, and he proposed to her.
It seems that, the whole time she was doing night duty at his bed
side, she sat there knitting (all night! what a perfect job for a
dedicated knitter!). He said he fell in love with her while
watching her knit. So she thought she'd found the perfect man
(because she really REALLY loved to knit!)
Well, after the honeymoon, pretty soon the knitting started to get
on his nerves, and he made her promise to quit for a few hours in
the evening, in order to keep him company while he read his evening
paper and listened to the BBC (this was pre-tv).
Well, she did this, because he was so loving and treated her so
well, but the whole time, her mind was on that "lovely navy blue
wool" and other things knitting.
So she made a bargain with him that she would go into another room
to knit, but he kept calling her and distracting her, and THEN, when
she finally knitted that "lovely navy blue wool" into a sweater for
him, which she thought he'd love, he laughed at her effort (LAUGHED,
I TELL YOU!!!) and he said that he could buy any sweater in any
store, and he didn't want her knitting for him, he wanted her
undivided attention and wanted her to give up knitting.
And THAT was the last straw, and she began plotting how to get rid
of the rotter. So being a nurse, she determined the exact spot on
his scalp where she planned to insert a certain needle-sharp
knitting needle (it must have been a steel lace needle, right?)
and one evening after he'd had a brandy and she was brushing his
hair (yes, he had her do that. No wonder she killed him), she
reached behind her (or maybe she reached into her knitting bag) and
brought out this steel needle, which she had spent some time honing
into a needle sharp point, and she rammed it inbetween the bones of
his skull, and quickly withdrew it. He of course died, and she,
being the good nurse that she was, washed and dried his hair to get
rid of the telltale blood, and combed it carefully and lovingly into
his usual pompadour.
People who came to the funeral all said, Poor dear, she married him
even though she knew he might have another stroke and die.
And she sat there at the funeral, and planned her next sweater.
Great story, eh?
and my husband never minds when I knit while sitting on the couch
next to him! (and I don't think he's ever read this story, either!)