The defeat of the woolly green sons of bitches

Back in October, I started knitting a pair of socks for one of my roommates. I had initially promised to knit her socks as a Christmas present several months before that, thinking I'd use that project to learn to knit socks. By fault of my impatience and my local yarn shop's tempting sock yarn selection, I learned to knit socks well before the gift knitting season came around.

And then it was October, and I cast-on the first of two simple, cabled green socks, thinking I would easily have them done in time for Christmas...ignoring, of course, the facts that the pattern called for size 1 needles, the yarn was rather thin, and my roommate's proportions tend toward the Amazonian end of the spectrum.

I just finished these sons of bitches tonight. Sock-math tells me there's about 25,000 stitches between them.


Goddamn. My wrists hurt now. I think I'm going to stick to size 2 needles for sock knitting for a while. And only knit socks for my own size 6ish feet.

The roommate, upon putting them on, immediately began speed-shuffling across the wood laminate, gleefully picking up floor crud and announcing that she never intended to walk again, only shuffle about in socks. I'm going to take that as a compliment.

But she will be responsible for any sock darning that needs to happen. A shuffling-about lifestyle precludes socks from being eligible for hole insurance under my company policy.