My dad has got to be the least curious person ever. (Yes, I live with my dad. I'm working a halftime temp job and I prefer not being homeless - what would happen to my yarn if /that/ happened? I don't think it'd all fit in my car anymore) Anyways. I told him I'd be working on stuff this afternoon and disappeared downstairs into the study/laundry room. Three hours he comes down to find me up to my armpits in soapy water, scooping out felt turds with a kitchen strainer, surrounded by the stench of wet wool, and Kelly's scarf pinned to the futon in the study (Holy Phil, that thing smelled /hideous/. I've bathed my mom's dogs after they've rolled in dead animals, and I was unprepared for the stench), and all he says is, "The driveway is slippery, so be careful going down the front steps."
Then again, my sisters and I were weird kids and even weirder adults. He's put up with me lacing up my sisters into bodices before Ren Faire, he's put up my sister smashing mirrors in order to grout them onto a end table, felting and blocking is probably a piece of cake to him.
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Wait... none of those "weird" things you list strike me as particularlly out of the ordinary, much less truly strange. I'm confused.
You're right. When thinking about what would normally be "weird," I usually go by "Would my cousins think this unusual?" But then again, my cousins are weird, so I dunno.
I've read about knitting graffiti. I'm thinking about tagging the yard and seeing if Dad says anything. :)
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