You see what that is, right? The second Chicken Toes sock, attached to what used to be a skein of my least favorite On-line color ever. It is now yarn barf. I find the irony of spending this much time looking at a color I don’t like (I chose it in case I didn’t like the pattern…and now that I like the pattern, I’m sort of stuck with the yarn…) to be unforgivably heightened by the fact that I had to go out and buy another skein of it this afternoon because my daughter’s (*&%%^ing cat decided that it looked like Disneyland in a single skein.
But this whole sock endeavor has become a test of sorts, of my ability to produce FO’s under pressure. I mean, if these things survived Ladybug’s first attempts at knitting, they can survive anything.
You see that, don’t you? You see her total concentration as she rips the needles out of the live stitches and stabs the helpless fabric into submission with that oh-so-fascinating pointy stick? Seriously, it was a choice between going for the camera or jumping up and down weeping. I like to think I took the route of the good mother as opposed to the shrieking lunatic, but I’m pretty sure the shrieking lunatic will get a bloodcurdling scream out there somewhere, so it’s good that I have proof that she only gets let out sometimes.
But anyway, it’s only proving my point that the socks are, like, fricking cursed. And I’m going to say it out loud and with witnesses: As the Goddess is listening, I will never again start a project for MYSELF with yarn that I don’t FRICKIN ADORE…We all know how She like Her little jokes!
And I’m going to lock up the stuff I am insanely infatuated with, too, like the Cherry Tree Hill and the Kaffe Fasset and this homespun superwash I brought home this afternoon…I mean, I think the next picture speaks for itself, don’t you?
Yup, as I told my daughter this morning, with a little garlic and a butter saute, that cat wouldn’t be half bad.
