I stayed up a bit late to finish my Hot Flash socks last night. I was feeling pretty fine and pleased with myself for finishing the toe and then weaving the ends in right away. I was giving myself a mental pat on the back and thinking about how I have really grown as a knitter now that I was completing old, unfinished projects and even doing the finishing work immediately upon completing the knitting.
Fueled by all of my kind thoughts about myself, I decided to snap a few photos so I could post right away about my awesome accomplishment. I took about a thousand crummy photos of my Hot Flash-stocking feet (my photos never do justice for my knitted items so I play the odds by taking many, many photos and hoping I get lucky and get one decent one)(which I rarely do). It was taking quite a while because I was setting the timer on my camera for each shot so I could get a picture of my feet at a less awkward angle then I usually manage.
While all this was going on, it did dawn on me that anyone looking in at this crazy lady in her nightgown, setting the timer on her camera, and then pulling up her nightgown and posing her feet in front of the camera would think something really, really weird was going on. I guess it is really, really weird, but what’s a knitter to do?
At some point during this amateur photo shoot I started to notice that the knitted pattern in the socks didn’t seem to quite match up. I had noticed this when the second sock first came off the needles, but I attributed it to it not having been tried on and “stretched out” yet. I started to really concentrate on the tops of my feet and tried to figure out what exactly was different.
It slowly dawned on me that I knit approximately 10 more rows of stocking knit before the toe decreases on the first sock than I did on the second sock and it was, of course, about and inch longer than the second sock that I knit. Incidentally, the second sock was a better fit. Ugh.
The “funny” part of the story is that I was knitting on the sock at work (on my breaks and lunch) yesterday, and stopped when I got to the toe decrease section because… because I wanted to check the second sock against the first sock to see if I had added any length to it. When I was home last night, I did check it against the first sock to see if there were any added rows. I didn’t see them. It appeared that I had started the toe decreases at the same spot on the first sock that I was sitting at on the second sock.
(Insert large sigh here) I don’t know how to explain it. It must be some kind of bad knitting voodoo, but there it is. I have successfully completed two different sized socks. I’ve had little to no success with sweater knitting, but sock knitting I could depend on to make me feel like I was a proficient (if not exactly an accomplished) knitter, and now this mini-tragedy.
I am going to see if I can find my woven-in toe end on the first sock, and if I can find it and pick it out, I will rip the first sock back and tear out the extra 10 rows. Then I will re-knit the toe. I just don’t think I can live with or wear a pair of socks that are two different sizes.
I need to start making notes on patterns. It is such simple advice, and I have read it time and time again, but it took this little incident to make it sink in. I always think, "Oh, I'll remember what I did here", but I rarely do. I really hope I can find the yarn end in that wildly variegated yarn. I'm pretty paranoid that ends will pop out so I weave in a lot of end yarn. I realize I could just snip the yarn at the toe, but I really would prefer not to go that route. My hands are starting to sweat just thinking about it.