There will be more of these; they're addictive, I tell you. And they're for a good cause, and they gave me a chance to use the tiny adorable 4mm needles that came free with that issue of Simply Knitting I bought a couple of months ago.
After the second hat, I heard something calling me from the sitting room. It turned out to be the ball of Noro sock yarn I got for Easter. "I don't want to knit a sock right now," I told it, kindly but firmly. "I'm in the middle of a tiny hat obsession." But it was very insistent, so I took it (and a set of sock needles) into the living room and let it sit on the coffee table for the rest of the day.
It waited patiently until well after I had finished the last hat, and then, around 10pm, while I was watching a special on the making of the Harry Potter movies, it got me. I cast on a sock. "I shouldn't be doing this," I said. "It's late, and I'm tired and achy and a bit grouchy, and I'll mess this up and then I'll be angry and never get to sleep."
"Shut up and watch Harry," the Noro said, so I did. The yarn kept sticking to itself and needing to be straightened out, and I kept straightening it and knitting on. Then, five rounds in, there was a yarn-barf incident of epic proportions, and I handed my work in progress to El Fuego for safekeeping and commenced untangling.
"I've never seen a yarn barf quite like that," El Fuego said.
"Me neither," I said. "And now I know why this yarn has been calling me all day. It's as ornery as I am!"
The very ornery sock. We understand each other.
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