I don't hate all of you. Your front panels and back panels were surprisingly easy. I had to stare at the pattern and go cross eyed for a minute but c'mon. Details, details. You were by the book, simple, straightforward, and most importantly-- DONE.
But you, Sleeves. You are a different story. I am over you a little. At first I decided that you'd be piece of cake, that the hard part was behind me.
you make a delicate bell shape on the bottom that will be sure to provide me with hours of glee at the sight of my retro-wrists and hopefully you will not itch like the sweater I am wearing today.
(note to self: write letter to French Connection damning them for making itchy sweaters and cc: Filene's Basement for selling itchy sweaters.)
it's the top of you, Sleeves. I can't figure out how to round the shoulder cap. Try as I might, rounding the shoulder parts, your humps, if you will-- is trying my patience.
Remember last night, Sleeves? When after about 25 minutes of googling to figure out how to get all of your stitches off the needles while maintaining a hole for my bicep, I slammed you down on my desk and hot tears sprung to my eyes while I yelled, swore, cursed and then TRIED to have you work with me.
Sleeves- HELP ME HELP YOU!
Remember, Sleeves, when I was talking OUT LOUD TO MYSELF, and surely NOT TO YOU, (we are beefing, Sleeves. Silent treatment) about how the pattern just says "bind off" and how when I did that, and then continued with the knitting it made a nice seam CLOSING YOU OFF TO MY ARM which just doesn't fly with me. Sorry Sleeves, it's not how I roll.
but I can't waste tears on you, sleeves.
but at the same time, I can't quit you. I have to knit your twin and do shitloads more before like, TOMORROW and I'm just wigging out. You are making my head spin with complications and you are making the veins in my temples twitch with frustration.
Sleeves, if it weren't the knitting Olympics, I would take my ball and go on home.
so why can't you be like your siblings and just EFFING BEHAVE. Stop falling apart and start looking like a sweater of glory that I can wear and gloat to strangers who compliment me on it.
I have a dream, Sleeves. It goes like this.
Stranger: I'm sorry to stop you, but what a lovely sweater you are wearing!
Me: oh, this old thing? I whipped it up in a week or two some time back. It's one of my own creations.
Stranger: oh my gosh, you're so talented
Me: I know!
Stranger: hey, why don't you quit your day job and knit all the time. I'll pay you for your artistry in the domestic arts arena. Also, I'll buy you a house and get you a dog.
DON'T DEPRIVE ME OF THIS CONVERSATION, SLEEVES. Then all my daydreams will be RUINED.
Whole sweater-- I'm sorry you had to hear this. You are still my favorite. I will block you GOOD when I am through with these other clowns. Here's hoping this kitchener stitch bind off hoo ha i googled works and i'm not just pulling it out of my ASS.
P.S. my hands are very, very white in this picture. add 'get a tan' to to-do list behind haircut.