The Gods Must Have a Mean Sense of Humor
For well over a year now I have been searching for a sock yarn that seemed to exist only in my fevered imagination. It was shades of rich, deep greens that would bring to mind a forest fill of elves and fairies and other mythical creatures. It had emerald and shamrock and grass colors all woven together and whatever sheep gave up his dignity for it was actually proud to have done so. Heck, he might have just stood up and offered the fleece off his back when he heard the idea for this yarn--so perfect was the combination of greens. Needless to say, I did not find it. I looked in every yarn shop, at every knitting event, in every possible place that a skein of perfect sock yarn might hide (leading me to believe that possibly the gods play hide-n-seek with us). I started to figure that the yarn couldn't exist--that my mind had produced colors that cannot exist in the real world lest the wool burst into flame from sheer hubris and be sucked into a rip in the time-space continuum.
Fast forward a few months. I am now starting blanket number 4 (about halfway through it) and have had a chance to take stock of my modest yarn collection. (Modest in the way that Brittany Spears is modest, okay, fine.) There is....a significant amount of it. There is especially a significant amount of sock yarn, and this is odd. I have checked, and I have just two feet. Mr. K is not very interested in hand-knit anything. I have one friend whose foot size I know. The cats are not interested in cunning little four-sock sets (Ed looked a bit interested when I mentioned that it might make him quieter when sneaking up on mice...but then he changed his mind when he realized the mice just might laugh themselves to death before he could taunt them to death) and no local businesses will let me pay with socks. I can only use so many draft excluders (those things you wedge under the doors, that some people think should be stuffed affairs shaped and decorated to look like weiner dogs--it is a comfort to know there is sickness greater than mine), my windshield wipers don't need covers at night, I have no use for knitted sock puppets with no faces (can't throw my voice, you know) and, although the local squirrel population does look a bit chilly, I am assured that they don't need tail warmers in a variety of bright wools.
To sum up:
1. I have a lot of sock yarn
2. I do not have a lot of time to knit
3. I have a lot of sock yarn
And being a rational adult (i.e., a whiny child who finally stomped her feet and said "Fine, I don't want the icky old green yarn ANYWAY"), I decided to cease the quest for the perfect, mythical green sock yarn. Which is when I found this on sale on e-bay: