I'm in the middle of my Christmas present knitting, and on this year's list are two identical scarves for family members. It's an intricate lace pattern, done with a very fine yarn and small needles, and it's especially maddening ("intermediate" difficulty, my foot!) because the pattern doesn't give you any "clues" as to where you are in a row, or whether you're even on the right side or the wrong side. Experienced knitters will know what I mean: with some projects your fingers can go on auto-pilot because you develop muscle memory, and you "know" that two stitches before the heart, you'll do a knit-two-together stitch.
So I'm sitting at a township meeting, knitting away, doing my yarn-overs to create the lace pattern, when a smart-alec meeting regular peers over my shoulder.
"That's not going to be very warm," he points out, teasing me. "It's full of holes!"
I gave him my best mock glare.
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