Knit, They Said
By: Kelly Fields
Tags: Humor, Knitting, Comedy, Craft, Life Lessons

Knit, They Said

It will be relaxing, they said…

Photo by Ursula Castillo on Unsplash

Just imagine coming home from a busy day and relaxing in front of a roaring fire to knit while sipping on a glass of wine. Sounds great, right? That’s what I thought when my mom suggesting taking up knitting a great new hobby to help me unwind.

Well, I followed her advice and the following are the truths I learned about knitting:

Enjoy those $50 socks I spent three months making for you. Yes, I know you can buy socks at Walmart for fifty cents, but the nice yarn is expensive. So please slip your feet into these works of art made from the finest superwash merino blend. What’s that? They are too loose and keep slipping down your ankles? EAT SOME SALT AND SWELL THOSE ANKLES UP, because I did not slave over those socks using the tiniest double-pointed needles to have you shove the socks in the back of your drawer never to be worn again!

Apparently you shouldn’t knit drunk. That’s how you end up with a sweater sporting armholes on your boobs. Lesson learned.

Cat eats yarn, cat pukes yarn, some yarn still manages to make it ALMOST all the way through and hangs, poop-covered, out the cat’s butthole. Now I get to chase a cat around the house trying to remove the shitty-yarn without accidentally disemboweling the cat. Oh yes, knitting is so relaxing, I think to myself with great animosity.

My husband says I sound like a psychopath when I have to count stitches. I sit next to him on the couch and whisper out all the numbers under my breath. Apparently this is a creepy behavior that sends chills up his spine. Whatever, I’m relaxing here!

Oh shit, I made a mistake, now I shall curse while I tear out loads of stitches. I end up sweating under a mountain of loose yarn while weeping. Gee, isn’t knitting a zen inducing activity?

I almost had to cut off my husband’s arms when I finally finished knitting my first sweater for him and the sleeves were two inches too short despite having measured him SEVERAL times. How could this be? He was clearly shooting up human growth hormone in the closet while I slept…but alas he was not. I could either have an armless husband forever and have to wipe his butt, which is a total deal-breaker, or I could take out the cuffs and knit a few more inches. Boo!!!!

Knitting patterns are written in fucking Sanskrit. Here is a sampling of the gibberish you get to decode when reading a new pattern: ssk, wyif, ptbl, M1k, p2sso, rev St st, SSPP2, w&t, yfwd, and last but not least BO (which I think sounds kind of rude for a pattern to yell at me).

The picture on the pattern looked great! I’m gonna make this sweater and look like a ski bunny sitting in a cozy Aspen lodge. Turns out I looked more like Mrs. Weasley had made this sweater on a bad acid trip. Apparently yarn choice matters. They should really warn you about that.

How do old people do this, it makes my fingers hurt. I spend one-weekend afternoon knitting away and the next day I can hardly type. Even holding my glass of wine causes hand cramps. No one told me about knitting induced injuries!

It turns out no one wants my homemade gifts. I have yet to read one of my relatives’ Christmas lists and see “hand-knit hat” “knitted mittens” or “homemade scarf” requested. I was not deterred though. Surely these naive relatives just did not yet know to ask for my wondrous creations. All year I knit and purled in a woolen fury to produce gifts for each and every family member. Instead of smiling wonder in reaction to unwrapping one of my offerings I received laughter when my father in law tried on a hat, which apparently I had mistakenly made so large it could fit over a person who was already wearing a motorcycle helmet. I don’t know maybe helmet hats could become a new thing.

Here’s the weird part. In the end, I guess I must be a masochist because I kind of love knitting. My mom was right, knitting is a pretty great hobby.