Look at this seemingly innocent ball of yarn. It appears to be in a prelapsarian state of innocence, doesn't it? God's yarn, one might say. Socks that Rock, medium weight, in farmhouse.
I was not entirely pleased with the original sock I made out of it, but according to my husband (who knows more about these things than I), my failure to apprehend the yarn's greatness was rooted in my fault, not the yarn's. The yarn and the sock are, according to my husband, perfect.
LIAR! LYING LIAR!
This yarn, despite the fact that I knitted and frogged and knitted and frogged three times, insisted on POOLING IN THE MOST HORRIBLE WAY POSSIBLE!
NAUGHTY YARN! OUT OF THE GARDEN WITH YOU! IN PAIN SHALL YOU BRING FORTH SOCKS, YOU NAUGHTY YARN!
Sigh.
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