Knitshame On Me

So, earlier in the week Jac told you about our trip to Pittsburgh, where we hung out at Indie Knit and Spin. I give her a lot of crap, but she’s a good sister. She told you about some of the new hand-dyed yarns we’re rolling out this year, but left out my deep and abiding shame. I was raised Catholic, so I know a lot about shame, and I’d put this one on par with unclean thoughts during Ash Wednesday Mass. It’s not going to make the Saints cry, but it’s not something I want to bring up at confession either.

Anyhow, this is me with a fancy cupcake, back when I deserved such things. I was crazy excited about that cupcake.

Just look at me. So proud and precious and naive. I’m all:

Mmmmm, girl, have you seen my hand-painted yarn skills lately? I’m gonna just pose here like it’s totally an accident that I’m in front of my brand new Escape colors. It’s not though! I want folks to see them and be all, “Hey now, is that lovely brown I see there Hazelnut? I hear that’s a big deal color this year.” Pantone said Hazelnut, so I will GIVE you Hazelnut. I DO deserve a special lemon cupcake. Man, I’m gonna eat this cupcake like nobody’s business. This cupcake doesn’t even know what it’s in for.

I don’t deserve that cupcake. I ate it before I knew that I am the reason we can’t have nice things. While we were at the show, I started working on a sock design. I got to a point where I needed some US0 needles, but I only had 1s and 2s with me. I get tunnel vision about these things, and even though Jac pointed out that I was literally surrounded by yarn and could work on something else, I just had to work on that sock. I figured I was at a yarn show, someone is selling needles. Lots of booths were, but only one had some US0s. So I took a gamble.

The needles were really pretty. Jac took one look at them and says:

Why did you buy those? You know you can’t handle them.

Cue indignant me. I can totally handle them. This is gonna be the time that I don’t death grip my needles and snap poor pretty wooden ones in my cantankerous clutches.

They didn’t even make it to dinner.

Look, I don’t blame the needles here. If someone gave my one-year-old a glass unicorn to play with, that wouldn’t survive until dinner time either. And when it comes to being gentle on needles, I am basically a toddler, so it’s a fair comparison.

In retrospect, the worst part was telling Jac she was right.


What’s the knitter equivalent of penance? Donate $5 to Child’s Play and work 5 rows of seed stitch?