Dear Sock

I want to love you. I really do.

I remember when I saw the yarn that was to become you. It was last Christmas, and I was home visiting my parents. My mother, knowing my love of yarn, took me to a lovely yarn shop. It was the first time I had ever seen Lorna's Laces sock yarn in real life, and I fell in love instantly.

Sunday night, as I cast you on , I had high hopes that this was going to be the best pair of socks in the history of ever. I had done all of the calculations to ensure that you would fit perfectly. We were destined to live a happy life together.

And then things went wrong. I'll admit that it is partly my fault. Due to my phenotypic uniqueness, I have to make concessions that others need not worry about. My short stature and weirdly athletic legs mean that if I knit the leg with the same number of stitches all the way down, I get sags at the ankles. But I was not afraid, because I had read Knitting Rules! All I needed to do was decrease a few stitches as I approached the ankle.

So I decreased 4 stitches. I was getting 8 stitches per inch, and about a half an inch was all I needed to take up the slack. I then merrily proceeded along with you, turning the heel and racing along the foot. I even stopped to take a picture of you:

I even posed you with the book, in hopes that Stephanie Pearl-McPhee's sock-knitting mojo might rub off on you.

Then I tried you on. A simple decrease of 4 stitches had made you too tight for my ankles, despite the fact that my ankles are a full 2 inches smaller than where the cuff falls. Why? I don't understand. I'm a scientist, and I can't wrap my head around why 4 stitches made you too tight.

As you no doubt know, you have been ripped back significantly since the above picture was taken. I'm going to try again, because I have invested so much time in you and can see your great potential. I ask only that you try to work with me to become the fabulous sock that I know you can be.


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