The Prince's Identity Crisis

"I am not Steve!"

You're right, my darling, but you certainly have been a frog. After careful consideration, and after force feeding you several slices of humble pie, Rumplestiltskin has convinced me to turn you back into a Prince. (By the way, oh Prince of Engineering genius, my panel of experts had a very, very hard time finding the zag that should have been a zig on your lovely St. Mawes sweater.)

You should know that we are turning you back into a Prince even though the Royal Parents, the King and Queen of Montana had already commissioned the Official Royal Monument of your Highness. They, like I, thought you might end up being a frog forever. (Oh, that Rumplestiltskin is such a softy.) It will serve as a constant reminder of what happens to sharp-eyed Engineer Princes whose manners are dubious. Thank you, Royal Parents, it will be the perfect accoutrement to the dazzling Castle decor.

And now, back to the Prince's Identity Crisis...

My dear friend Debi was in the Shop one Saturday as was my Prince. He was working up front on my computer and Deb and I were knitting and chatting at the table. Now, my friend Deb is a very polite knitter indeed and wanted to be sure to include the Prince in the conversation.

"So, Steve, what do you do for a living?"

"Why, I'm an engineer."

"Oh, that's interesting. And what do you think of your wife's knitting shop, Steve?"

"Well, I think it's just great."

"We all think it's just great too, Steve."

And so it went for the better portion of the afternoon. As Deb was leaving, she said,

"It was great meeting you, Steve."

"His name is Rob," I whispered.

"Rob! Your name is Rob? You let me call you Steve all afternoon and your name is Rob? Geez, my brother's name is Rob. I could have remembered that. I can't believe you let me call you Steve all afternoon."

"I guess I didn't want to be rude."

Hmmm. Who knew manners were a relative social behavior!

And so even while the Prince was a frog, everyone here at the Shop called him Steve. As a matter of fact, it has been decreed that every knitter's husband or significant other is Steve. Steve is the name of all men who watch in bewilderment as their women knit and knit and knit and knit. They knit, they swear, they rip, they hide their booty, they calculate, and they scream in jubilation when they get it right. It doesn't matter that all that knitting results in beautiful works of art; if your non-knitting significant other is like my Steve, creating them one stitch at a time seems like the craziest thing in the world to do.

Steve, oh Prince of my dreams, Eagle-eyed Frog, my Robbie, you're a good sport and you've unwittingly made Nana's Knitting Shop a much funnier place to be.

Oh, and if anyone wants to rub the belly of the Official Royal Monument for good luck, it will be here in the Shop until it's final installation in the castle courtyard!