Hubris
Things seemed to be going well. Really they did. It was a new (to me at least) way to make a gusset and it seemed to be going off without a hitch. I finished the first Greenhorn and grafted the toes. It was the prettiest and least fussy graft ever. I should have known something was up. I soaked it, blocked it, and hung it to dry. I had tried it on several times during its construction, and had no reason to think anything was wrong.
But there was.
It pulled, just a little bit, right across the point where my leg turns and becomes my foot. Just a bit. Just a little tiny bit. Just enough to be maddening. I could wear it. But I knew I wouldn’t. I held it. Stared at it. I tried it on again. It was still just the tiniest smidgen too small. I swore with an enthusiasm and verve not usually heard except in the presence of eighteenth century pirates. I tried it on one more time. It was still too small.
So I ripped.
Actually, I picked out the lovely graft and tried to convince The Boy to pull the end. I wanted someone else to do it so as to spare me the heartbreak. He (likely wisely) declined this rare opportunity for authorized knitwear destruction. His protestations were most amusing. Eventually I succumbed and ripped it myself – all the way back to the gusset.
I added four rounds (and thus four more gusset stitches) and am now most of the way back to the toes. I’ll end up with a much better final product (ya know, one I’ll actually wear as opposed to one I’ll let languish at the bottom of the sock basket), but I still feel the tiniest bit slighted. It will likely pass once the pair is done and in the rotation, but for now, I am not amused.
Ah, it happens! And you always feel better after the ripping is done. Even better after the reknitting is done. Then you can (nearly) forget about it!
The boy is wise.
Cute too…and awfully handy to have around! The first sock is finished (again) and fits much better!