PMS+missing sock=ignominious death

I was killed this afternoon by a single sock:

It was sent in one of those resealable envelopes and had opened in transit, and arrived alone. In the throes of PMS, I waited for Ron to leave the room and burst into tears & have been crying on and off about it like a fucking baby ever since. I’m very ashamed of myself, but that doesn’t stop me (TV commercials and pretty much every news story will make me cry for the next day or two).

I had a momentary spark of hope, thinking it was the same yarn from my critter’s scarf (I have about 45g left & the sock only weighed 33), but that one’s fingering weight & only has 3 colors of stripes. I emailed my assassin to find out if she had any leftover yarn so I could make it a mate.

Sadly, a sock, even a nice handknit sock, is nothing without its mate. So right now, it’s just another unfinished project. Yay.

  • Kelly Sue says:

    Wait, so are you out now? That sucks.

  • Nikol says:

    Yeah, because otherwise I’d be unkillable, which would be unfair. I knew I was going to be killed–mainly I just wanted to kill once before getting knocked out–but I wanted to get a pair of socks out of it. Oh well.

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