Finest hours
There are many ways in which I'm not a great person. (I'll spare you the laundry list; just trust me on this.) Parenting, in particular, has a way of slapping me upside the head with my failings.
On the rare occasion, though, I make minute progress.
Take this...thing. There is very little to recommend it. The yarn writhes like the contents of a snake pit. The texture is, while soft, creepy in a Peter Lorre kind of way. It hung on to even Addi Turbos like I was trying to pry it from the edge of a cliff. In short, it sucked Hoovered big time.
But I promised a long time ago I'd finish knitting this little rag. And finish it I did. I don't know if Offspring the Eldest cares a thing about it anymore, but I kept my promise and it feels good.
1 comment:
I knitted a scarf for my sister out of yarn that sounds very similar. It was really odd to work with, and to my mind in the end looked a bit like a long strand of seaweed. But she really liked it - go figure.
Parenthood knocks me flat on my behind quite often, too. It's an awfully tough gig all around.
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