I’ve created a monster.

Well, actually, I’ve created two, fraternal, not identical twins. I just finished my first pair of socks. Let’s just say that during gestation something went slightly awry. While I was working on the ribbing of the first sock, I showed it to my Tuesday knitting friends. I said, “It seems so loose. Is that right?” They replied, “It will be all right.” By the next week I had turned the heel with no problem, and was working my way down the length of the foot with some skepticism.

I said, “This is really big.”

The Tuesdays asked, “Did I do a swatch, check my gauge?”

“Yes.”

“What size needles are you using?”

“Threes.”

“That’s kind of big.”

“I matched my gauge and needles to the directions.”

I took out my handy dandy Boye Knitting Gauge and measured again. I was one stitch off my original count. I was knitting looser. Pshaw!

One of the Tuesdays said, “One stitch per inch is going to make a difference.”

I knitted on, deciding that these would no longer be my first hand knit socks. They would be my son’s first hand knit socks. When I got home, I measured his feet, twelve inches. I finished the sock and showed it to my friends. They were speechless, but smiling. Slightly daunted, I started the other sock. Could I duplicate my mistake? The answer? Well, not really. First, I started the toe decrease too soon. I tinked several stripes and tried again. I still didn’t end with the same color at the toe, but the cosmic they knows that one foot is always smaller than the other. This way my son can figure out which is which, and be able to say the red toe is for the smaller foot. He has graciously accepted the banded pair, calling them his, “lounging socks.” And I have not yet succumbed to single sock syndrome.

Sock One and Sock Two.

Toe One and Toe Two

Get in-gauged and Good stitches.