Now scrapbooking itself is a little baffling to me, and I have found if I try too hard to figure it out I start to gibber and grasp at invisible air-weasels. The only way I can assimilate it into the rational panoply of human existence is to think of it simply as "archiving." And then I have to ignore it.
But my wife is forcing me to consider the concept again, because combining the already unintelligible with a completely incongruous situation/venue that already smacks of bewilderment, is, well, UNHOLY. I don't understand it, so, you know, it must be Witchery.
However, regardless of my psuedo-moral judgements about scrapbooking and weekend gatherings in general (can't you feel the wrongness of it?), the whole premise seems a little, I don't know, suspect.
I mean, I can stretch my understanding enough to see why scrapbooking with other people might be more fun, and even more productive for a certain breed of people. But in a hotel an hour's drive away? All weekend? Does this make sense to anyone?
And just how wise is it to give cutting tools to a dozen women who are giddy with a cocktail of diet coke and adhesive fumes? Add to that a lack of sleep and the sweet, sweet nectar of freedom, and, well, it's a recipe for disaster.
That's why I think it's all an elaborate lie. I think they're really going, as a coven, to celebrate The Feast of Qudrat by dining on the entrails of lemurs.
It certainly makes more sense.
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