Dear Crabby Yarn Shop Lady,
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for today's obvious intrusion upon your quiet time. After all, while the "OPEN" sign outside your shop lured me in, it was clear from the withering glare you directed at me that OPEN really meant CLOSED. Having never met you before, I was somewhat taken aback; strangers usually don't dislike me until I've opened my mouth but perhaps there's a secret mark on my forehead that's visible only to bitchy yarn shop owners. Despite this, I would like you to know that you needn't have expended any energy on the glare. The overwhelming stench wall of Glade PlugIn that greeted me at the door was a clear indicator that you were determined to drive away everyone or at least those of us in possession functional olfactory nerves. Perhaps it's a sign of yarn snobbery (something I am occasionally guilty of) but I expect that wool should smell like wool, not a craptastic chemical interpretation of lavender. IFear not, O Crabby Yarn Shop Lady, I'd sooner spin and knit pit bull fur than set foot in your intentionally smelly and unfriendly shop ever again.