On Thursday I was at the local university interviewing students. I donned my interview outfit - black pants, black turtleneck and my green Travelling Vines scarf. Knowing it was cold outside, I also put on my cozy Posh socks. Remember them? Here they are:
Then I pulled on my "hoochie" boots and, being an earth friendly commuter, headed for the bus station. The bus took me a block from my ultimate destination, and I walked the last bit, silently cursing the boots:
I welcomed the students and sat and talked to each of them for half an hour. By the end of the morning, my voice was going, but my feet felt fine. I checked in with the office and was told that I should take the afternoon off. Yay! I made a couple more phone calls and then set out, on foot, for my SIL's house only a few blocks away. Mr. Happy planned to meet me there.
My feet were about to go on strike when I arrived at the house. My SIL fed us a delicious lunch (squash soup with mushrooms and curry) - and after my feet started to recover I took my bowl to the dishwasher. My SIL commented that I was walking funny.
I said, "My heel feels weird. Just a sec."
I sat down and pulled up my foot to look at my heel. This is what I saw:
With the echo of my anguished scream still sounding in the air, I moaned:
"Darn it, darn it, darn it."
This is my first handknit sock loss. I think I need time to mourn.
Then I pulled on my "hoochie" boots and, being an earth friendly commuter, headed for the bus station. The bus took me a block from my ultimate destination, and I walked the last bit, silently cursing the boots:
I welcomed the students and sat and talked to each of them for half an hour. By the end of the morning, my voice was going, but my feet felt fine. I checked in with the office and was told that I should take the afternoon off. Yay! I made a couple more phone calls and then set out, on foot, for my SIL's house only a few blocks away. Mr. Happy planned to meet me there.
My feet were about to go on strike when I arrived at the house. My SIL fed us a delicious lunch (squash soup with mushrooms and curry) - and after my feet started to recover I took my bowl to the dishwasher. My SIL commented that I was walking funny.
I said, "My heel feels weird. Just a sec."
I sat down and pulled up my foot to look at my heel. This is what I saw:
With the echo of my anguished scream still sounding in the air, I moaned:
"Darn it, darn it, darn it."
This is my first handknit sock loss. I think I need time to mourn.
That's just awful. And those socks are quite new, aren't they? I seem to recall you were knitting them when Dad had surgery -- back in April!
ReplyDeleteThey are new-ish! That's what makes it so painful!
ReplyDeleteoh how tragic, they are never the same after they have been darned! I myself and mourning the loss of my pink baby cable socks that I knit in Knit Picks Palette, I have not been hand washing them and I think they have shrunk beyond the point where they are useable.
ReplyDeleteOkay, first, nice boots mama!
ReplyDeleteSecond, darn it, darn it, darn it. I always give my socks to my mum to darn. I guess maybe I should figure out how to darn them myself?
That sucks. A lot.
ReplyDeleteawwww ... crap! Nice looking socks, cute but evil boots! Punish them but never allowing them to see handknits again ... show them the pain of store bought socks and make them rue the day they took out one of your finest!!
ReplyDeleteThat truly is a travesty. Such pretty socks too. Maybe they can be relegated to 'at home' socks now.
ReplyDeleteOh Steph! I really feel your pain. Earlier this year Mr. Loopy put holes in his pair of sweet georgia socks.
ReplyDeleteI hope you recover soon.
I think I would have sat down and cried. Holes in socks are a travesty. I just can't stand a sock with holes. Hand knit socks with holes though, that's worth more than a few tears.
ReplyDelete