Oh Steamy, well you came and you gave without taking...

I posted the picture of my Twist blocking, but you didn't get the whole story. Before I actually got to any sort of "pinning" state, I hunted ALL OVER our house for my Scunci steamer.

(Yes, I saw it on an infomercial. This shouldn't color your judgment of me or my beloved Steamy. For $60, I got Steamy and his floor kit. It was love at first steam.)

During the initial stages of my hunt, I asked Andrew if he had seen Steamy. Andrew, being the naturally jealous type, denied having seen Steamy, and told me that Steamy was in my office. Then, to add insult to injury, Andrew asked when the last time was that I used Steamy.

You have to understand this: Steamy and I have a love that transcends the simple quantifiable nature of many relationships, which depends on frequency of visits. People, it's not about how much time we spend together, it's the quality of the time we spend together. I knew you would understand, even if Andrew doesn't.

(In all fairness, I think Andrew has always been a little jealous of Steamy.)

You see, Steamy and I meet, often in B&D circumstances: I bring Steamy out once my sweater has been thoroughly restrained, and together, we block until the sweater uses our safe word ("Moth!").

You've been reading this blog. You know that the only blocking I've done in the last few years (ahem, two and a half) has been lace, which requires wet-blocking, not steaming. Like I said before, our relationship is about quality, not quantity. Given my resolution to block my knits, I knew Steamy and I would be seeing more of each other.

After two hours of hunting, I gave up. Steamy was AWOL. I worried that he had been misplaced in the move, or heaven forbid, "accidentally" donated by one jealous husband. I picked up his second cousin, thrice removed, Presser.

(Presser and I have a long history, but one of familial relationships, rather than love. He was our family iron while I was growing up, and he came with me to college. He's now the official iron in our house, slightly less neglected than Steamy, but considerably less loved.)

Presser and I have an adversarial relationship, and I'll be honest, he's burned me in the past. He knows that when it comes to my beloved knits, Steamy is the one who I really want to be sharing the moment with.

Presser deliberately makes blocking difficult (and frankly, unenjoyable and tedious), and because of his refusal to do what Steamy does, I end up with aching muscles in my hand from having to pump him for that precious steam.

So, I had Andrew work Presser for the steam. Only then did Andrew realize that what Steamy and I have is unique and special, and promised to aid in the search for our missing Steamy.

Yesterday, while I was hunting through the trappings of our material existence (read: "the junk in the garage"), the very moment that I gave up hope and was climbing out of a pile of boxes with the express purpose of finding myself a new Steamy, there he was. Under a roll of blood red pleather yardage. (Not joking.) I squealed with delight, and brought him directly into the house.

Steamy has decided that he wants to sit on the shelf, next to the cashmere. I think they might have a thing, if you know what I mean.

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