Assault at the LYS

I wish to offer this up in my own self defense: it was not my fault.

Yes, well. Likely story, I know. But as you read my sordid tale, please keep it in your mind. It was not my fault.

This past Saturday, I made my way to the LYS. I wish to make Scandinavian-type mittens, such as these in black and white. As I mentioned, it being Saturday, the store was quite crowded. No matter. I wended my way past knots of happy knitters towards the Dale of Norway Baby Ull. Much to my chagrin, they had white but no black. Alas. However, though slightly disappointed but not defeated, I went to look at the sock yarn to see if there was a comparable weight black lurking there.

So I squatted innocently on the floor, and began to excavate my way through the mounds of sock yarn. As I was pulling out a couple of contenders, I heard a small sort of growling from about three feet above my head. Alarmed, I glanced up quickly, only to spy a basket of Mountain Colors Bearfoot perched up on a shelf, a few colorful skeins dangling over the edge. I stood, and peered into the basket.

Now, I’ve never knitted with this particular yarn in the past. I have an aversion to mohair in general, as it gives me the itchies like nobody’s business. Mohair in sock yarn, then, is completely out of the question. Besides, this yarn has always seemed, well, a bit wild for me. Too hairy. Too scratchy. Too bestial.

As almost to confirm my opinion, the growl came again from the bottom of the basket.

I squinted, leaning closer. I was definitely hearing it, yes, but what exactly was making it?

And then, with a streak of scarlet, it was upon me. The beast had leapt with deadly accuracy and gotten me around the throat. I gasped as the treacherous sock yarn hit me in the neck and I fell to the ground, writhing and twisting and trying to throw it off. It was no use. Its growling was fierce now, and it managed to get around my head and sink its needle-like teeth into my earlobe.

I froze, breathless, lest it rip off my ear.

It stayed like this for a minute or two, snarling and grunting, until it noticed my bag. It had fallen over in the struggle and was lying next to my feet, quite open to the world. In an instant the yarn released me and made a flying leap, diving expertly past my everyday flotsam and jetsam and landing in the bottom. It wiggled a bit, as if it were making itself at home, then was still. Soft growling was still audible.

The sales clerk of course had come rushing over to see what the scuffle was about. I sat up and dazedly looked up at her.

“Nancy!” I cried. “Do something!”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do,” she answered, distressed. “Once they get in your bag, there’s no getting them out again. This happens all the time!”

“All the time?!?!”

“Well,” she said, “you can’t possibly think that you’re the first!”

Indeed.

So I took the yarn home. The car trip seemed to calm it a bit, but the relative peace was not to last.

Upon entering my house, I immediately put it in the sock yarn bin. However, as soon as I closed the lid and turned my back, an outrageous cacophony erupted from behind me. I wrenched the lid off again to find the Bearfoot ripping a yarn label to pieces, and a naked skein of Lorna’s Laces cowering in the corner.

So I took it out and put it in my knitting basket, only to have it escape and chase the cats around the room.

“What is it that you want from me?” I bellowed at it, cornering it behind the woodstove.

It scuttled around me then, and I heard a crash from the rear of the house that sounded suspiciously like my dpns all hitting the floor at once. It came skidding back, my KnitPicks size threes stuck into its posterior. It whined slightly as it nudged my foot.

“Fine!” I roared. “Fine! If that’s what’ll shut you up, then fine!”

So I sat down and cast on for a sock.

See?

I even had to bring it to work and waft ether in its face for it to stop moving long enough to get a picture. Other that that, the only way to calm it (besides car rides) is to knit it.

In my haste I screwed up the toe. Doesn’t it look funny? This is my first pair of toe up socks, and I must have read the directions wrong. No matter. I’ll just unravel a few rows then kitchener the ends back together later.

These are for the blub. As I said, I can’t abide mohair. Hopefully I can finish these before Valentine’s day, as they will make a nice gift for my sweetie.

So yes, I have cast on for yet another project. And also yes, again I’m knitting something in secret that has a deadline. And also also yes, it’s yet another pair of socks!

It wasn’t my fault. I’m telling you, it was not my fault.