merry festivus

My short break to catch up on other things turned into a long break full of mince pies and butternut squash casserole and thus I've nearly missed my chance to wish everyone a lovely Christmas and delicious New Year. Fortunately only nearly.

Christmas this year was a proper holiday, the likes of which I haven’t seen in ages and ages, and thus fantastic. Matthew and I still haven’t given each other our main gift, because I cocked his up and have been frantically trying to fix it for days. I have been secretly concocting a skinny boy cardigan for him for months, many months. I'd decided long ago that it was to be the Christmas present to end all Christmas presents.

A week before the deadline it was all going marvellously. I had one sleeve, the yoke and button band to do and, as I'd shuffled my schedule to include the words Nothing But Knitting, I was confident I'd finish it. Ah, yes, my friends. You can see where this is going already. But I shall tell you anyway. It went a little like this:

With six days to go, I had finished the main body and the first sleeve and was about to cast on the second. While Matthew was asleep that morning, I sneakily wrapped it around his arm to see how it fit. My heart sank. The wrist was too small, while the shoulder was miles too big. Despite taking careful measurements, even the widest part of his arm was drowning in a sea of green and black. So I ripped it back and began a fresh.

With five days to go I had half a new sleeve done and a quick scout about his forearm told me I was definitely on the right track this time. Because it was going so well, I decided to spend a day working on knitted Christmas baubles. They're rather addictive and so terribly festive that I decided everyone on my list should have one, hurrah!

With four days to go, I still only had half the new sleeve complete. I began to think I should cast on some slippers so he had something to open. But I knew nothing could top the cardigan; I knitted on.

With three days to go, I had finally finished the second sleeve. All I had to do was attach them to the body and begin shimmying up the yoke. Do you know what a trial it is attaching those stinking sleeves? All those extra stitches, the way they stretch about and get out of shape, all that fussing to reduce the strain on everything. If decreasing up the yoke wasn't such a delight I'd swear off it altogether.

With two days to go I discovered two minor errors two inches down on two separate occasions and had to rip back both times. After much cursing, I reattached the arms and swore with every ounce of my being it would be fine. All fine. The yoke wouldn't take that long and the button band would be a freaking cinch. It would be a cinch if it killed me.

On Christmas Eve morning at nine o'clock, the end was in sight. I had ten rows of the yoke left, I had the buttons. The button band would be a breeze. I was sitting on a bus on my way to do some very last minute shopping when I stopped and held out the garment to admire my work. Suddenly the sound of rushing wind drowned out everything around me. Three inches down there was a break in the decrease line on the right side, it had shifted left by one stitch.

It's OK, I thought, I'll just drop down 21 times to fix it. It'll be fine. I counted the stitches and made a note of it, then decided to count the stitches on the other side, too. Suddenly the storm of gale-force winds gathered everything around me and hurled it three counties over. There were three fewer shoulder stitches on one side than the other. I had misplaced the right arm.

I think I was in the middle of Sainsbury’s when the enormity of my cock up set in. I reached the check out in a barely contained flood of tears. My legs quaked as I admitted I had lost my Nectar card. My heart flapped about my spinal column as I shook my head no, I don't need any bags. My arms detached as I bent to pick up my bags and hovered precariously a few steps ahead as I heaved myself home.

Later, in a fit of tears and quavering, I confessed the disaster to Matthew. I had mustered myself up to look at the mess as objectively as possible when I got home and there was nothing to do but rip back. I was a lousy girlfriend and a poor excuse for a knitter, that was all that could be said. Except for:

'That's all right, I'm not finished your's, either. Shall we wait and have our own Christmas later?'

I gladly accepted.

Comments

['Lista]

Despite the amount of discomfort that you had to endure, it's a beautiful story! I adore it. Like a modern-day "Gift of the Magi"...if the Magi happened to not finish their gifts in time.

PS I'm still working on Chris' gift, too.

[Robyn]

My husband would have just gotten the deformed sweater. He complains about his gifts either way.

[Justine]

Oh noes! Drama! But you convey it very well, my dear. have a fabulous New Year, I hope you get up to something naughty.

[Sharon]

What a drama! It sounds like it will all turn out alright in the end. :)

xx