Funny story about bad socks

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My dear husband, Please forgive me for my decision to take my life. I just couldn’t stand it anymore. The pressure was too great for me to handle. No one could endure what I’ve been through. It started 3 days ago when I decided to knit a pair of socks for myself with that brightly colored yarn that you had your eyes on (See that’s what she gets for being selfish and keeping that thread for her.)

I had the perfect pattern for it called Feather and Fan socks. So I started knitting away trying to get the first one finished by today figuring that I could have the pair finished by Sunday so that I could wear them to church with my new clear clogs made for showing off my hand knit socks (What church does she go to?)

When I finished picking up the stitches along the gussets, (Ya right! Like he knew what she was talking about.) I decided to try it on to see how it fit. I finally, after much struggling, got it over my heel, and up to my calf, to my horror, I saw how tight it was. I couldn’t understand it.

Everyone on the sock-along list that I belong to was complaining that their socks were coming out too lose. How could mine be so tight? So I traced my steps right from the beginning. The pattern called for 72 stitches; I had 72 stitches. It called for sock yarn; I used sock yarn, it called for size 1 needles, I used a size 1 circular.

Oh wait a minute, oh no, no, no, no, this can’t be, I thought. This needle says size 0. That can’t be right. Maybe the manufacturer made a mistake in marking the needle. I never make that kind of mistake. So to prove myself right, I checked the needle with my needle gauge. I almost died right there.

The needle gauge read a size 0. I used a 0 when I should have been using a 1. I was horrified! Now what was I going to do; all this work for nothing. Yes, I could send it to the frog pond,(“Why would she want to throw it in our little pond,” her husband wondered.) but that’s just not an option for me. So I caved in and took the easy way out. I hope you won’t miss me too much. (She’s kidding. Right?)

Your loving wife Everett, who lovingly knitted by her hands, socks for you.

P.S.

Do not wash those socks in hot water or they will shrink. I put a lot of work into those!
I want to be buried with my stash of sock yarn, my sock books, and my knitting needles!
My wedding band can be hocked!

A Note from Gail:

If you haven’t guessed it by now this story is about me. Oh yes, I’m still very much alive and didn’t go to that extreme, but as you froggers know, I sure felt like flinging those stupid socks right out the window and put them out of their misery or better yet get Annie from Misery to hobble those suckers.

I also wanted to mention that I received an email from a lady who was offended by my humor about size. She took it as an insult to ALL plus size people. Let me just say again that this story is about me and yes I am plus size. It took me many years to get to the point where I could look at myself in a mirror and feel comfortable enough about my body to be able to laugh at myself and realize that I am who I am and proud of it. Fat is only a word. It can’t hurt you unless you let it. You can choose to make it bad and allow it to rule your life in a negative way or use it to describe who you are in a positive way. Here are descriptions of the person I am.

F= fabulous

A= musing

T= trustworthy

Okay, now it’s your turn. Send me some descriptions of yourself using FAT, and if I publish it, you’ll receive free yarn.

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