Marla’s fingers itched. Not from the cold—she’d layered seven sweaters under her parka—but from the sheer, electric promise of yarn. The annual Maple Creek Craft Fair was hours away, and she’d already plotted her masterpiece: a life-sized tapestry of a dancing raccoon, woven entirely from discarded sweater threads. Problem was, Dave from the Yarn Bombing Collective had stolen her blueprint.
“You’re *cheating*,” Marla hissed, peering through the frosty window of the community center. Dave stood atop a ladder, wrapping a neon-pink scarf around a mailbox like it was a birthday present.
“Strategic improvisation,” Dave said, not looking up. “Your raccoon’s got *no* personality. Mine’s got… *flair*.”
Marla’s jaw tightened. She’d once seen Dave attempt to knit a sweater from bicycle chains. It took three firefighters and a llama to untangle it.
At 8:59 a.m., Marla struck. She sprinted into the center, yanking a spool of cobalt-blue yarn from the supply closet. The plan was simple: sabotage Dave’s scarf, then unveil her raccoon as the fair’s centerpiece. But then—
A gust of wind. A startled goose. A misfired yarn ball ricocheted off a table, unspooling a hundred feet of neon green yarn into the air like a glittery tornado.
“MY YARN!” Dave screamed, flailing as the scarf wrapped around his head, shoulders, and left foot. Marla froze, then lunged to help. The two tumbled into a pile of felt squares, entangled in a kaleidoscope of color.
By noon, the fair’s highlight was not a quilt, but a 12-foot yarn sculpture of a confused raccoon, straddling a mailbox, wearing a tiny scarf. Dave, now known as “The Human Tapestry,” waved from inside, shouting, “This is *art*!”
Marla grinned. Maybe next year, she’d try knitting with spaghetti.
