Traumatized By My Ass

Yes, you read right. I was traumatized by my own ass. It all started when I (quite innocently, I think) decided to go out last night to the local Value Village to scout up some men’s shorts. (I work out in them and, since I work out at home and no one has to see me, I choose comfort over anything resembling style in any way, shape or form.) Mr. K was with me and suggested as we left Le Village that we might want to STOP AT TARGET to see if we could find something lovely to wear with my newly finished Samus cardigan.

STOP AT TARGET, an innocent enough phrase most of the year, has a significantly more ominous meaning on the day after Thanksgiving. Specifically, it means one of the following:

a.) I would like very much to be elbowed 732 times, have shopping carts driven over my feet, and be head-butted in the crotch by small children hunting desperately for their mothers in the sea of legs.
b.) I would love to purchase clothing that has been tossed to the floor by the millions of shoppers there before me and is in sizes either too small to fit anyone larger than a toothbrush, or too large to wear if I am not tied to three friends. I would especially like it if these items of clothing have make-up stains on them from being tried on, and are in colors that make me appear to have jaundice.
c.) I am completely insane.

Nevertheless, there was a Thanksgiving miracle in that I found a lovely pair of pants that were actually in my size and in a color that didn’t make me want to vomit (a bad prospect on the day after Thanksgiving, I think). Moreover, I need more dressy pants because I am not allowed to wear jeans to Knit for Life. It was meant to be. I mean, there wasn’t a heavenly chorus and a beam of light or anything…but still.

So, I gathered up the pants and, still heartbreakingly innocent in the ways of Target dressing rooms, went to try them on. Oh, it started out okay. I shut the door, slipped off my shoes and jeans, bent over to pull on the new pants….and then I saw it. The mirror on the wall behind me. Tragically displaying approximately 40 yards of 41-year-old ass. Now, my ass is not actually in my everyday line of vision so I was fairly secure, until yesterday, in my fantasy that it was still roughly where it was 20 years ago. “Roughly” may have been an understatement. While it is not exactly resting on the backs of my knees, I think they’re getting to know one another. How did this happen??? WHEN did this happen??

I was mesmerized, the way a mouse will be hypnotized by the twitching tail of a cat. And I was wondering as I was being horrified, what store puts a full-length mirror on the back wall of a women’s dressing room?? I mean, unless it’s one of those special carnival mirrors that make you look really skinny……okay, yes, I know. It’s good to know how the outfit looks from the back. But, you know, call me old fashioned—I was HAPPY to just look over my shoulder, see nothing jutting out alarmingly, and go on. We had an arrangement, my ass and I. Don’t look, don’t tell. We were happy. Now this. I don’t mind getting older, I really don’t. But does my ass have to age at the speed of milk? I swear…..

In happier news, I did finish Samus, and I did get Mr. K to take a photo for you. Here, with the offending ass pressed firmly against a tree where it can harm no one:

I know you can’t see the detail all that well…..but you get the idea. I love it, but did have one small quibble with the pattern. Specifically, the width is dependent on the length of the waistband (which is knit vertically). Also, you can’t stop in the middle of a pattern repeat on the Saxon braid and the braid repeats over 32 rows. So the difference between two sizes is not an inch or so of width but rather, 32 vertical rows turned on their side. Which is a long-winded way of saying I would have liked it a bit smaller, but the next size down would probably have been smaller than I wanted (I want to be able to wear it over a bulkier turtleneck, should the mood and the Northwest winter strike me). Other than that, it was a fun and easy knit and I didn’t find any mistakes in the pattern (or, if I did, I’m goofy enough that they worked for me….not an unrealistic notion, actually).

I also started knitting with the Noro. I couldn’t find exactly what I wanted, so I’m adapting a pattern that I think will have some stitch interest but still show off the Noro colorways. See what you think:


The original pattern is tunic length which, given the abysmal state of my ass, you would think would appeal to me. But no, I tend to think I look like one of the Golden Girls when I wear tunics, so I’m going to shorten it to graze the top of my lowest jeans. It’s also supposed to be a turtleneck but I’m not sure about that. I’d really like to make it a scoop neck, but I’m afraid that doing that will give me big chunks of one color on either side of the neckline. What to do? Suggestions, anyone? Anyone made a Noro sweater and want to share some wisdom? And what do you think of the pattern so far? At this point all I have is Ed’s opinion….and he’s a bit biased since I keep slipping him bits of turkey.