Victory

Ta-da. Ta-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

The reason I wanted to learn to knit was that I could knit socks for moi and for everybody in my family and friendly circle. Instead, I chose to knit scarves, cowls and some more scarves and cowls and a blankie or two, because surely, surely, knitting socks would be too difficult. I don’t know why, but I thought handknitted socks were the enemy that had to be fought tooth and nail.
So it was with not a little trepidation that I started my research into Sock-knitting territory. I read patterns, watched videos, read books, looked at pictures, I pondered and studied and thought and philosophised. And then I chose my weapons of destruction. In the form of kebab skewers. Not a good idea. I soon discarded said skewers and replaced them with two circular needles, following the advice of seasoned warrior Cat Bordhi, whereupon my enemy the Sock went very quiet indeed.

I toddled merrily along until I reached a notoriously dangerous area in this hostile land: the region of Heel, Heel Flap, Heel Turning and Gusset Territory. Again, with the help of the brave soldiers who went there before me and who put up videos on the internet to guide novices like me, it turned out that the enemy was actually a bit of a lazy bastard, not even bothering to make an appearance. Honestly, I never saw him! I conquered Gusset Territory with no problem at all...

Well. Until I came to the last picking up part of the Gusset, because there the helpful videos just... stopped. There were videos for soldiers carrying kebab skewers and there were videos for those who use one long circular needle (probably for strangulation purposes), but knitters who came armed with two circs were left in the freezing cold. I was left to improvise, and I’m proud to say that I made it through, leaving a few scars here and there, but nothing that won’t fade with time.

In the end, as I said, the Sock turned out to be not much of an enemy at all. It was more my fear of the Sock that made me think he was the enemy than that he really was after my blood. But, if I may be allowed to wax political here, that is so often the way.
Actually, it was friendly fire that nearly killed me in the end. By the time I had to cast off (not weave in but actually cast off), I became reckless, because the weapons you need to finish off a Sock are these:

Now, those I can work with. Or so I thought. It took me two bloody hours to cast off ten stitches. Of course I could blame my YouTube instructor, who told her pupils to use a “ridiculously long thread”, and when I’m told to use a ridiculously long thread, I tend to use a ridiculously long thread. Only, when knitters say a “ridiculously long thread” they don’t really mean a “ridiculously long thread”, they mean “roughly the length of the thread you use for cross stitch”, which, as we all know, isn’t “ridiculously long” at all. Anyway, I used a ridiculously long thread and it knotted and twisted and tangled, and ohhh. Never mind. I won.

Next up: same territory, different weapons. And an enemy that wasn’t.

Yours smugly,
Annemarie.