Sorry—had to get that out. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Pictures. If the most talented photographer in the entire world were given the most expensive and best camera available with 874 rolls of film, and me as the subject, he or she would likely turn out about one good photo—and that would be the one of his thumb. I don’t know what it is. If I have food in my mouth for 2.3 seconds out of a 5 hour evening, I can guarantee that 10 photos will be taken in that moment. If I squint, sneeze, blink, stare unattractively, whatever, it will be recorded for posterity by at least half a dozen people. If I look down, I will have a double or triple chin. If I look up, the entire world will be able to see right up my nose.
Lest you think I’m simply fishing for compliments, I can assure that I’m not. I used to model when I was much younger (MUCH younger) and I only did runway work—because the photographers all said I wasn’t photogenic. Not only does the camera not love me, it has a serious hate on for me. One wonders if I maliciously pulled the innards out of a camera once as a child. Or something.
All of which is the build up to the photos of the finished noro sweater.
Mr. K took about 25 photos to get a couple which I find only moderately embarrassing. But he did make me laugh, which is worth points.
I’m not allowed to tell you what he did to accomplish this feat (cameras also tend to make me somewhat depressed after the eleventh shockingly unflattering photo) but it did the trick.
I’m happy with the stripe placement, and I like the stitch pattern. I think the whole thing is a tad unflattering, though….a bit too bulky, maybe? Or maybe it’s just that it makes me look like I have striped bowling balls for boobs (I swear they’re not really that big). I should try it with a better bra (you know, the good ones that you keep in the back of the drawer for some unknown reason while continuing to wear the old soft ones that only barely manage to keep the whole business from accidentally getting zipped into your jeans….no? It’s just me? Huh.). Probably though, what I should really do is look at it when I’m not depressed about looking only slightly better in photographs than a flattened possum (it’s a Northwest thing….they cross the road to mate but are so hot and bothered by the prospect of a little marsupial booty call that they don’t watch for cars….and end up looking slightly less attractive than I do in photos.) In any case, I still love the colors and it’s quite nicely warm—not a bit itchy, although I feared it might be once I felt the yarn, so perhaps I’d best reserve judgment. I know it’s a bad time to decide such things when I find myself thinking things like “Why do I even try to knit if I’m going to make stuff like this? Perhaps I should sit in the yard and feed my yarn to the worms.” Y’all know.
Hey, I just went and looked in the mirror and realized that if I stand at a certain angle, it’s really quite flattering. Think anyone will notice if I walk sort of half sideways everywhere for a day? Yeah, yeah. It’s probably just fine. It’s probably me and my cameraphobia and the whole world looking dark because I can't take a good photo. (In case you were thinking how dreadfully shallow it is to be so concerned with one's appearance in pictures, I already thought about that. Now I feel bad about that, too.)
Right back on the horse, that’s the ticket (the knitting horse, not the camera horse. Please, GOD not the camera horse). I was thinking I should really not start anything new until I’ve finished my teal shawl and my pomotamus socks. I was also thinking I should not eat chocolate and should focus instead on eating fresh veggie sticks and salads without dressing.
Yeah, I laughed, too. Then I laid down until I felt better—clearly, I had not been entirely well.