Since this is my ﬁrst blog, I wanted to start off with a bang. I know I am supposed to ﬁll the page with all sorts of knitting techniques and whatnot. And they are coming. Trust me. But I thought, for the ﬁrst blog, I wanted to do the social commentary thing. So, here it goes….
Ever been to an old timey state fair? You know the kind I mean. The one where there are all these women standing around all involved with their pies. They all want the blue ribbon for the best made pie. They have been making pies all their lives. Their recipes are ancient (Probably handed down by Viking women, who used to roll out dough wearing a helmet with horns on it). They know their stuff. No argument there. And there is always one lady that is all smug and satisﬁed; the one that usually wins. She is the one everyone wants to beat. Her pie dough is perfection. And, let’s face it; it is all about the dough, right? It has to be made, well, perfectly. Just light enough, just thin enough. The steps that are required are secret (probably some chanting involved). All very hush, hush. The “experts” walk around tasting the pies with authority, as if they were all trained by Merlin. They taste every pie crust with a heavy helping of haughtiness (As if they are the only experts on pies. I am thinking here that most of us could do this job pretty well. We are all pie eaters). The pie pressure builds, as they take another trip around the table to re-sample one or two (This is a complete scam right here. They are just trying to eat more pie, in my opinion). Finally, it’s down to the wire. They all huddle together. The wait is unbearable. They turn and announce the first prize, blue-ribbon. And who does it go to… the same lady again. She puffs up and struts to the table to receive her accolade. Her smugness is palpable. All the other pie makers look at her with longing. They want to be her. Each one of them feels a little less competent and a little less of a pie maker. And that is how a monster is born. We, as women, all have the pie making gene in us. Even though it may be subliminal, we measure our worth against other pie makers all the time. Whether we are baking pies or knitting. The contest is always there. Some people are so intimidated that they won’t even enter the arena. Why? Because there are women waiting there to make them feel insigniﬁcant and it really works.