Of Yarn and Quarters

On my way home from a trip to Wisconsin Sunday, my gas guzzler on "E" and my mouth craving a little Diet Pepsi, I  stopped at a gas station along the I-90 interstate for a quick fill-up.

Standing in line near the counter, I glanced around at the snacks and the odds and ends for sale when my eyes fell on a small display box on the countertop. In downhill handwriting with X's over the misspellings, the box's sign read something like this: