Swimming in the frog pond

Come on in! The water's fine!

Sure I was at the gates of the promised land. Only a few buttons from Finished Objects. But my papers weren't in order, I was missing a stamp on my passport. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. Yet still they wouldn't let me in. I was turned away, alone and unloved, with my heart on my sleeve and my yarn in my hands. What I glimpsed through the bars looked wonderful. I'll have to try again next week.

So I turned my attention to a forlorn forgotten project, The Greatest's Jaywalker socks. They're brown, they're manly, and they're knit on an impossibly small gauge. I got this much done.



Did you catch that? Seven inches. I was in the home stretch to the heel turn, where the sock becomes exciting, before the monotony of the foot body. I decided to have The Greatest try them on to see if the diagonal pattern caused the fabric to pull in a strange way, like a skirt cut on a bad bias. Just wanted to make sure the design was inherently wearable. He pulled it on his foot and loved how tight it felt, very fitted, then he was unable to get it around his heel. It is too small. Seven inches of too small. Fate can be so cruel sometimes. So now his Jaywalker sock look like this.



Two crinkly brown balls, just reeking of wasted potential.

And since I was busy frogging and kinda reveling in its destructive nature, the awesome power of erasing things from existence I did this



to this



Yes, Hopeful is no more. May she rest in peace.

I'm sure Boyd is around here somewhere. Stupid little blue needle. He's probably giggling with glee. When things go this badly it is always the work of Boyd.