There's this thing in the knitting world. A curse of sorts. Never should you knit a man a pair of socks or he'll put those socks on & walk right out of your life.
I swear. It's true. Pinky promise.
Three crushes in three years. Three pairs of socks knit. Gorgeous socks may I add. Three guys went a-walking, which - in all honesty - wasn't a bad thing in retrospect... Anyhoo.
Then came Brent. I knit him mittens. A scarf. A matching hat.
He wanted socks.
I refused.
I came up with all kinds of excuses.
"Your feet are too big. It'll take me forever."
"You will wash them with the wrong stuff and ruin them." --- "I'll send them to you to wash whenever they need it." --- "Your stinky socks won't make it through customs. The drug-sniffing dogs will pass out & I'm not going to wash internationally."
"My favorite sock yarn comes from Australia." - As a true kiwi he would have refused to wear socks (or anything else for that matter) knit from Australian wool. ;-)
One day I told him about the knitter's curse. He laughed & thought I was nutty.
I never knit him socks.
Browsing through old issues of Knits magazine, in the Fall 2006 issue, I found a pattern today. "Father & Son Socks." Sigh.
I should have knit the man some socks, you know.
Aye, I've got the brains of a chocolate fish, huh?
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Thank you for your comment on my DREAMS posting. What you said is what i have been feeling . . . now I need to ask you the name of the book . . the link didn't post completely and I think it would be an interesting read.
I'm thinking he has been gone 25 years now . . would have to do some checking for the actual date . . . but to think that the memories are still as fresh as when they were actually made.
Life works so strange . . .
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