The tale of the doomed scarf

My mother made me a beautiful scarf for my birthday...twice. It was this red, pink, and purple blend silky soft "fun" type yarn...peacock yarn, I think it's called. She struggled with it for hours, attempting to crochet yarn that is, quite honestly, really made for knitting. I remember she told me she had to hold it up to a lamp so the light would shine through and she could see where the stitches were.

So you can imagine how difficult it was for me to tell her that I lost it. I tore my house apart looking for it...and cried. I was pregnant at the time and was feeling particularly emotional about silly stuff. And I cried again when she gave me the replacement scarf...this one made out of the exact same yarn and with the exact same difficulties. She told me this was the last one.

So you can imagine how I cried tonight when I found that the foster dog had chewed it in half. I know it's just a scarf. But I feel like a complete idiot. I can't even take care of a damn scarf! I mean...twice now it has met its demise while in my care. First, I just plain lose it. Now I leave it on the kitchen chair (the typical dumping ground for coats and winter wear in our house), and the foster dog uses it to floss his teeth. What is wrong with me?!?! Why can't I just have ONE FREAKING NICE THING?!?! Why does everything I touch turn to utter crap???

Mom...if you read this...I'm sorry. And don't worry, I won't ask for another. I figure my bad luck will cost any future scarves their lives too. I can't do that to some poor innocent mass of yarn like that.

To the universe...f*** you too!