There I was, sitting on the deck, enjoying an idyllic afternoon of no obligations, knitting away on little tiny needles, when the cruel hand of knitting mischief swept down and knocked one needle out of my hand, sending it flying between two slats of the deck and into the murky abyss below.
I calmly assessed the situation (when you think of 'calmly' you should think of Darth Vader at the end of Attack of the Clones. Noooooooooooooo!). Almost immediately I came up with a plan that was almost immediately thereafter thwarted by the position in which the needle had fallen (that may be the cruelest part of all, that I can see the needle but I can't get the needle). At that point I decided to petition my mother for help. After all, for what did she obtain a degree in engineering if not to help me recover my knitting needles? It was fate, I tell you. Fate.
Um, except that her clever idea involved a magnet, and my needle is plastic.
I guess I'm going to the yarn shop...