With a little help from my friends

So, I was at the local watering hole last night. My, er, admirer from a couple weeks back was there as well. His sweatpant shorts were hemmed this time, so it was an improvement, but he's shorter, fatter and balder than I remembered. Still not attracted. (That sounds cruel, but I have very specific ideas of what I find attractive in a man and he has none of those qualities).

Must say, it's a pretty good place to hang out, even if the decor is a little dated (brown vinyl chairs - 1976, anyone?). All the regulars who help me hold up the bar formed a circle around me when they noticed that I was on the receiving end of moody stares and didn't let him talk to me.

When fisticuffs between this fellow and someone else broke out, the regulars assisted in the ejection of this person and his cohorts from the premises and I was left alone to enjoy the rest of the evening. I didn't see the fight, so I don't know if it was related to me, but I'm narcissistic enough to think that it might have been.

Sometimes, it's nice to be looked after, even when you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Hence the title of this post.

In knit news, the lone green sock was received happily, and subsequently returned to me so that I can make the second one the same length. I will finish it this weekend, no matter what.

Last night at the pub, I worked on this:

I had a few rows done on the heel flap when I arrived. Dropped a couple stitches, but that was easily fixed by tinking back a couple of rows. I'm finished the gusset decreases and pushing on merrily down the foot. One more evening will have it finished.

I should mention that I don't tink very often. I usually rip back where I want to be, or just drop down to the offending area and fix the problem with a crochet hook. However, with this particular dropped stitch, I had messed up the slip one, knit one pattern, and it was just as quick to go back the two rows and and re-establish the correct pattern. Glad I did too, looks quite smart for a plain-Jane sock.


I've got the next few projects lined up. Sock yarn really is the crack-cocaine of knitting:



I've got plenty of fun yarn for my stock of gift socks. And that yummy little yarn cake (the colour is not at all accurate) is going to become Icarus. I had some help winding it up at knit night. I was not going to risk turning 800 metres of hand-dyed lace weight into a huge knot by winding it myself.

Today is a beautiful day, and I fancy a long walk down to purchase the appropriate circular needle (I couldn't believe that I didn't have a 3.25 mm circ. I thought I had every size under the sun).

Yes, I am playing hooky from work, and I feel bad enough about that, so we won't discuss it further.

I was talking to some women last night who were quite intrigued that I could merrily knit along, enjoy a beer and a conversation and not even look at my work. I just blushed demurely (ha! there is nothing demure about me) and said that I had been knitting a long time. They won't see me sitting at home drinking iced tea (not wine), frowning over what looks like pink barf and cursing because I've counted what should be 600 stitches for the fifth time come up with a different number each time.

Yeah, knitting really is fun.