There’s still a bit on the end and the right side that I needed to hand-shovel to really clear it out.
So, we’re all ready for Mr. Beth to get home, and there’s a place for him to park his car.
Last night I decided to work on my World’s Scratchiest Socks, since they were the oldest project still on the needles. They are tube socks, so I don’t have to worry about a heel for my first socks. But I decided to go to the part of the pattern where you shift the 3×3 rib one stitch over. You do four rounds of this, then shift one stitch over again, et cetera. The effect is that the ribbing swirls around the sock and looks more complicated than it is. The toe shaping is just k1, k2tog around until you have 8 stitches left, so that will be easy.
So I did one set of the newly located ribbing, with only minor errors (I did learn that when you tink your ribbing you have to move the yarn forward and back, just like when you made the original stitches, duh). But what really caught my eye, for the first time, was the yardage requirement listed on the project.
I dug up the ball band for my yarn: 50 grams. Hmm.
Now, if I had noticed this at the outset (what, a year ago?) I could have planned to make a short cuff, maybe two inches, and gotten going on the pattern. I’d probably be done with the first sock by now. What I have now is six inches of cuff and what will probably be a two inch foot.
So, here are my choices, as it seems to me at the moment:
A. Keep going until I have one real sock, make it a learning experience to do the whole pattern.
B. Knit the sock as a mutant. Make the other one to match if I feel especially masochistic.
C. Frog this back to the cuff and actually finish it as the World’s Scratchiest Footie Tube Sock.
D. Hit the frog pond right now and start a new sock project with proper yarn and proper amounts of yarn.
E. Finish both socks this way, gift ’em to someone I don’t like, and pretend nothing’s wrong.
F. Take a match to Icelandic wool.
G. Leave the project in my basket just the way it is, and in twenty years let my daughter try to figure out what the hell I was trying to do.