I hate knitting

There are some days, few and far between, but still present, when I hate knitting. This is one of them. I sat down and had a long talk with the Secret Wedding sock. I explained that when I said "If you loved me or my darling, you would fit" I didn't really mean it and it was just displaced anger and frustration. That I was truly happy with these masculine looking socks, and delighted that they would be part of my wedding present to my darling husband to be. I apologized for calling it a mangled pile of wool, and asked nicely if I could measure it just one more time. 10 3/8 inches. I thanked the socks, and proceeded to figure out the Kitchner stitch, which I have never attempted before, so begged the socks indulgence if it took some time.

After successfully completing the Kitchner stitch, I stood back and admired the beauty of the completely finished sock. Then I measured: 10 3/4.

I want to cry! I hate knitting! I am choosing to believe that maybe his toe was slightly bent when I measured his foot last night (while he innocently dozed on the sofa, and I am almost certain that he believed my story about the spontaneous foot rub when he caught me carefully removing the (hand knit of course) aphgan from his feet). His toes must have been slightly bent. His foot was probably a little arched. I couldn't reach the bottom of the heel. Whatever, but I am sure that the extra half inch won't matter.

$10 says that when I try to duplicate the second sock, I will make it 10 1/4 inches exactly.

I have started the second Secret Wedding Sock, but there isn't much to look at or photograph yet. In the meantime, I worked on my new decoy sock last night. The NON After Bertha tube socks, since this is the one where I forgot to start twisting the rib and didn't notice until inches later.

Today, it is all about the tears.