It's quite a bit of sock–from the top of the leg to just past the gusset. It has dear little cables in it, separated by something akin to moss stitch. Not bad work on the whole.
And yet I have no memory whatever of knitting it.
- Elves live in my gym bag and are knitting socks to pass the time.
- I was abducted by aliens. During my "lost hours" aboard the spacecraft I needed something to keep me occupied in between invasive, quasi-erotic medical experiments.
- It's actually a cleverly-disguised transmitter planted by the FBI, which hopes to collect enough material to finally bring Dolores to justice.
- Nothing sentient could survive for fifteen minutes sealed up in a bag with my gym shoes.
- I don't live anywhere near Roswell, New Mexico; and none of my orifices show signs of interference.
- Even the FBI has given up on trying to reform Dolores.
The pattern is once again the work of that sweetie-pie Charlene Schurch, and it's turning out to be just as much fun as this one. I wonder who it was that first said, "Charlene, honey, why don't you write a book about socks?" Whoever it was, we owe the person a debt of gratitude and a plate of cookies.
Back On the Air
After an inexplicably long hiatus (my fault, not Brenda Dayne's) I'm once again to be heard in an upcoming episode of Cast On: A Podcast for Knitters. Listen for me around Hallowe'en.
Advance warning: I'm reading a poem. That's all I'm saying. I can't believe I'm even saying that, because honestly I've always felt one of the most chilling sentences in the English language is "I have just written some poetry, and would like to share it with you."