One talks about a gaggle of geese, obstinacy of bison and parliament of owls; would it be reaching much to add “scourge of socks” to that list?
I don’t really hate knitting socks, although I do look in awe upon anyone who signs up for the Fifty-Two Pair Plunge. When I hit the right rhythm, I enjoy the mindlessness of striped stockings, and of all the gifts that I knit, socks elicit the most wonder and appreciation. I wear handknitted socks year round (a fact that horrifies Odd-Even, but a real possibility in Norway) and, much to my surprise, Knoll prefers them to woolen store socks in the winter.
That said, sometimes (most of the time) that the mindlessness of stockinette in the round, so conducive to the next movie on my Netflix “must-see” list, becomes boredom and a chore. Yet I can no longer bear the idea of knitting a million little patterned stitches into socks. In short, there’s a sort of oppressiveness that greets me whenever I look at the sock yarn stash. It makes me wish that some household spell could transform it into this. Or this. Or this.
I did make this, casting on immediately when I found the pattern so immediate was its appeal. Mods include a short-row heel, closing the cables on the final repeat à la Elsebeth Lavold, and working the rest of the sock over 62 sts. After the first one, of course, I caught Second Sock Syndrome, and now, several months later, I’ve completely abandoned even trying to finish the pair and am instead focusing all my efforts on socks for Adrian in time for his December birthday. Perhaps my goal of two pairs might even be within reach given that I cleverly chose 6-ply sock yarn for him this year. But if there is anything against which I generally caution myself, it is optimism 😉