A Tale of Two Socks

I am a horrible person.  Really, I'm not sure what to make of the person I have become.

You may remember sometime last spring I cast on for a pair of socks - something completely uncharactaristic of me.  I was seduced in the yarn shop by a comely skein of sock yarn and before I knew it, one sock was complete and the next on the needles.  I usually justify my yarn expenditures by giving the finished products as gifts.  This somehow makes it alright in my mind, and really I'm not one for keeping the things I make anyway...the pleasure of the knitting is reward enough for me.

Yes, I decided, these socks were for my beloved sister with cold feet out in Connecticut.

As time wore on (and other projects commenced), that last unfinished sock was left unknitted in the basket far more than it was worked on.  Finally it was firmly placed in "knitting project limbo," otherwise known as a tupperware container in my scary Michigan basement.  I unearthed the sock at the beginning of August and was alarmed to note all that needed to be done was the grafting of the toe.  Something I did quickly and, delighted with a completed pair of socks before me, quickly tried them on.

Uh oh.

I loved them.  They were woolly but soft, and the colors were perfect for fall.  "You awful girl," I told myself sternly, "take those socks off at once.  Hannah will be here in a few weeks and you'll give them to her then."  I slipped them off, paired them together and set them on the peak of my craft mountain (that used to resemble a table...).

A few weeks later, I was organizing and stashing my half finished projects so that "company" wouldn't see what a hideously disorganized person I was.  I once again came across the socks.  "Oh, I need to give these to Hannah - I better set them on my dresser so they don't get lost in the shuffle."

I think you may know what happened next.

My sister visited and then left.  We went on vacation.  We came back, and fall had begun.

One frigid morning, I couldn't bear the thought of putting my warm toes on that icy floor.  In the dark, I grappled on the top of my dresser and found a pair of socks.  I pulled them on.  AHHH!  Warm and snug and perfect for a fall morning.

It wasn't until I was brewing coffee in the kitchen that I noticed the socks.  "hmm, this is awkward...what do I do?  Take them off?" I wiggled my toes appreciatively.  The colors were so pretty.  The knitting so excellent.

Maybe it was some sort of dormant sibling rivalry that reared its ugly head that morning.  Maybe it was pure selfishness.  All I know is, deep down, I knew I would never give them up.

"I just did all that knitting for her baby," I reasoned."Besides, when have I EVER knit myself anything?  She probably doesn't even remember they were supposed to be for her...I'll just knit her another pair and she'll never know the difference."
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As I sit here with warm feet on a rainy day and think about how it all went down, I am completely ashamed to say that I may want to knit myself one or ten pairs more.  I solemnly swear to send a pair to H - but the rest are for me.