Sock of Doom

Since I have been blabbing about my sock knitting disaster the past few days, I thought I'd give an update.

Yesterday, as you may recall, I realized I had started my gussets before I turned the sock heel, and I ripped back to the end of the heel flap and got all the stitches back on the needles in a half-assed sort of way. After that, I put the sock in its little red pouch so I could do some serious self-recrimination.

Today was a new day. The air was clear, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and I went off to work with an idiotic smile on my face. Can you tell where this is heading?

Around 10:30 we had a small break in the action at work, so I pulled out the sock, confident that I was of clear mind and yippy-skippy attitude. I fixed all the stitches to they were whole-assed, not half-assed. I picked up a few dropped stitches, fixed some slipped stitches, righted some twisted stitches, and repaired some split stitches. Maybe 'repaired' is a little grand. The yarn was shredded and looked like hell, but I decided that the only way to fix that was to rip back again and start with a new piece of yarn. I'm a perfectionist in theory, but a realist in practice. On I forged.

After all the stitches were happy and smiling and lined up like little schoolgirls, I set to work in earnest. First, I picked up stitches along the sides of the heel flap.* I started knitting across the instep. I got to the point where I was going to redistribute stitches to work on the gussets.*

That's when I said 'D'oh!'

And then I said to myself something a little more salty.

And then I un-knit back to where I had started for the day.

How many ways can you spell D-U-M-B? How many ways can you BE dumb? Well, let me count the ways, for I am inventing new ones daily.

At this point, I got out a copy of the pattern.** Understand, I have knit socks from this pattern for so long that I memorized it years ago, and can usually knit a sock with only my pinkies and both eyeballs tied behind my back. While I stand on my head. In a bucket full of syrup. Naked. On drugs.

(Come to think of it, after years of doing the above, maybe I have some cognitive impairment).

I forced myself to read the pattern, a line at a time, and knit one row at a time, pausing to admire my work after each row. I'm relieved to say the sock now has a heel, and I don't have to go buy coaches' shorts to wear with tube socks.

After turning the heel, I carefully put the sock away in its pouch, so it wouldn't attack again.

It may be several days, and several pints of vodka, before I attempt the next step, FINALLY picking up the gusset stitches. Or maybe I'll just strip and get out the bucket of syrup.

*See yesterday's post.

**Nancy Lindberg's Knit to Fit sock pattern, # NL 7. A fine pattern. I recommend it for anyone of normal intelligence and sound mind.