A few years ago, I reconnected with a friend I hadn't seen in a decade. Now, this guy is a major, major computer geek. (And, no, that's not a bad thing in my mind. I married me a computer geek. Geeks make great husbands.)
Despite the fact that we seem to have few interests in common, he's one of those people that I can just talk to, easily. So, one day I started babbling to him about the yarn I'd just bought. It was Jamieson's Shetland Spindrift and a few skeins of Campion for the cover sweater of Alice St*rmore's Tudor Roses. I was telling him I'd had to substitute a darker color for one that didn't exist anymore, that I'd pulled the foreground colors but not liked the green in them and substituted more golden tones, that this was my dream sweater, and ... and ... and ...
And his eyes started to glaze over.
Now, normally, I'm not too perceptive when I'm blathering on about yarn. (Okay, normally I'm not too perceptive when I'm blathering on about anything, but especially not when I'm talking about yarn.) But this time I noticed. I was just working out a way to segue into Macs or hard drives when his gaze cleared and he grinned widely. He'd obviously had a paradigm shift so big I could practically hear the gearshift grind. "You're a knitting geek!"
I blinked at him.
"You geek on knitting the way I geek on computers. You're a knitting geek!"
From that point on, he got it. He completely understood (understands?) my knitting obsession. Maybe we're not so different after all.
This is me last fall, with my dream sweater. Which won my dream ribbon, the Grand Champion, at the Puyallup Fair.