We’ve all been there: quietly knitting, minding our own business, when we realize that we’ve dropped more stitches than Holyfield needed after his fight with Tyson.
I was sitting on the couch, knitting away on the first design for the book. I’m already behind, by the way, no thanks to my wrist injury that is still causing considerable frustration. Sitting on the couch, working on this cardigan, watching season 2 of Mr. Robot (it’s crazy sci-fi but kind of mind-blowing), when disaster struck.
|Actual image of me at the time of the disaster|
I looked down and realized that my interchangeable needle tip had separated from the cord, and zillions of stitches were swinging freely in the breeze. I could already see the stitches dropping through the rows and I started to panic.
Wife: “What’s wrong? Can I help?”
Me: “DON’T TOUCH ME. DON’T EVEN SPEAK TO ME RIGHT NOW.”
Wife: “So…should I pause the show?”
Me: *incoherent noises of rage”
I was two whiskey and cokes down, but I flew into the kitchen faster than that time my wife announced the tacos were ready. I turned on the overhead lights in the kitchen (three of which burned out last week) and slowly, painstakingly, terrifyingly, rescued the stitches one by one. There was blood. There was sweat. There were (many) tears. And then, there was more whiskey to dull the pain of my ordeal.
You can tell that something happened if you look closely, but I’m hoping you’ll all give me a break this once. Plus, you can bet your ass I won’t be closely photographing the back of this cardigan.