Great expectations

I never posted a picture of the finished camo jacket, with buttons. I couldn't find a rugby ball, but I know Luca's mommies like baseball so I put on baseball buttons.

These are my main current projects. The bright scarf is for my friend, it's her last year's b-day or christmas present. I can't remember, it was supposed to be done a year ago. There is a matching hat, which is finished and I already gave it to her. There is also an inside out hopeful sweater, with a little more sleeve than last time. I put a few more rows on Clopatis last night, it will be nice to finish that one because the appartment gets pretty cold. I need a nice comfy wrap like that. And last but not least, my fur trimmed wrap sans fur.

Now, what does all this have to do with the title of my post? Well, all those things you see in the picture, I want to finish them before I go home AND cast on for a rogue sweater and another scarf for a friend back home AND of course finish those things before I go home. Yeah, I chances of that happening, slim to none. (Oh heck, you can even forget the slim part, it just ain't happening.)
Plus, apparently my expectations for finding buttons for chocolate mocha are a bit too great. The universe is against me finding enough of the ones I like. I need 8, the most of the same kind that I can find seems to be 6.

And the title also applies to Ophie. She has great expectations to ... as far as her food goes. My roommate and I just give her dry food. She's an indoor kitty, she doesn't need all the juicy meat if all she does is sleep it off. (The occasional full moon crazy run around the appartment is not enough exercise to run off all the non diet food.) But, she has a few friends that care more about her tastebuds then my roomie and I do. Both Michelle and a neighbour happened to randomly come accross a little can of fance feast cat food and gave it to her. I tried to spread out her servings. But now every time I go into the kitchen, a hopeful Ophie follows me and pretends she needs to be fed. Spoiled kitty. It's gotten to the point where I can't even open a can anymore without Ophie doing that stereotypical walking in an 8 around my feet.
O well, her 15 minute memory will fade soon.