Another day, another snowman.
My camera is waiting to be relieved of it's photos, and I had big plans to show you, tonight, the quilt top Rachael made, and the whopping stack of nine-patch blocks Phyl brought in today (with backing, even. She is so good, that Phyllis.), but for a brain cramp I am suffering with. Today was a headache, and all due to some dumb man I don't even know.
Anyway, this dumb man sees himself as a bit of a practical joker. The office boob, if you will. He is also 'the boss', and possibly feels no compulsion to reign in his unruly side. Now imagine you are a burgeoning sock knitter, and you took your socks to work with you to pass the time as you sat waiting for the phone to ring. You have many inches of 2x2 ribbing finished, on 2mm needles, and you are called away from your desk, just for a moment.
This is where I start to get a little shaky. I need a minute...
(deep cleansing breath in...) so you come back to your desk and find the needles pulled out of your sock. All seventy-two of their ribby little bodies twisting free of the confines of your knitting; the needles lay beside them on the desk.
(and breathe out slowly. And in again...)
What kind of freaking lunatic does that to another human being???
That is so far from funny, it couldn't find funny with a map, a military satellite, and a damn guide dog.
You may have guessed by now that I spent the afternoon performing sock surgery. Not a stitch was lost, though many were mangled and split in our valiant sock knitter's attempt to get them picked up... and she did get them back on needles before she brought it in for help. That she attempted to re-knit them was just a bit more confusing, but in the end, I think it's all fixed. I have to go rock myself in a corner while I chew my hair. Back when the twitching stops. C