I haven't really been inclined to knit socks. Why do it when so many look so functional, and er, like something Rosie the Riveter might have worn to work? I'm all about nice-looking and feminine, and socks for the most part just don't seem to go with skirts and dresses! I mean do you see the models in Vogue wearing socks or even celebrities at the various movie premieres? No, socks are just too practical to be pretty. They're just something to wear to bed or when it's so cold you might freeze some digits down there.
But I've been rethinking my position, only because my fingers are so bored on the bus and the train these days. There's only so much you can read or text to Twitter. So I want to knit something that's easy on the debit card and lightweight to carry. But I want a challenge. I'm thinking I might enjoy making these Pom Pom Peds (or these footlets)...so similar to the dozens and dozens of cotton Liz Claiborne ones I've bought at Marshalls over the past years. I'd imagine the ones I'd make would be so soft and comfy that I would never ever buy any more anklet socks. I'd love 'em so much that I would be inspired to make them for my mother, sisters, friends and bloggers I've befriended over the years. I could even see myself buying those antique darning eggs you often see at the antique shop. (I swear the Antique and Resale Shoppe has a few in a 1940s-era sewing basket I can picture now). Then I would lovingly repair all my homemade socks. (I should tell you I already stitch up any holey socks on my Viking Husqvarna. I just push the heavy knit and 'faux' serger buttons, and stitch away with made-for-knits needle on my machine. Done in 30 seconds.)
So I could see myself phasing out the machinemade in China or Viet Nam sockies in favor of the knitted-at-home ones that can be worn with flip-flops, slippers or my Natural Sport slip-on sneakers (so wonderful for dancing!). But I will never ever wear Crocs (I'm a member of I Don't Care How Comfortable Crocs Are, You Look Like A Dumbass club on Facebook). I might, just might make lacy socks but none of those multi-colored ones that look something the Seven Dwarves might wear to cut down wood in the forest.
Will it be cheaper to make my own? Probably not. But it will keep me entertained on the bus, which I think is almost more important. I'll become one of those knitters who memorize their patterns and can crank out these things like somebody's business with impromptu variations. Wanna a leaf at the ankle? Done. Your initials on the bottom? Consider your John Hancock duly noted. So stripes or even an argyle pattern? A little trickier, but give me a couple of weeks and your feet will be decorated by you know who. And we're not talking about tattoos, a whole other topic.
I figure one of the patterns above will be easy enough to learn. If not, I can pester my mom who has aced the sock-making process to the point she's got a few pairs saved up for Christmas. I won't have to go to the local sock-making store or even yelp for help at the local SnB. I can go to mom's (and raid the refrigerator in the process). And the cost of the yarn - even a nice 100 percent merino wool variety - won't bust the checkbook. I can master those wobbly double-pointed needles. (I had trouble trying to make a pair of fingerless gloves with those things and I ripped up the project without guilt and made a sweater instead.) I can stash, needles, yarn and my ego all in my to-go bag.
Now I must check on all those clean cotton anklet socks drying on a rack in my living room. They feel a little stiff, but wait til I get little socks - handwashed probably - on the same rack. Any of you who come over for dinner on wash day Wednesday (which is really any day I have a $1.25 in quarters and enough detergent) are in for a Show N' Tell. See pretty socks! Touch the little pom-pom I made. Isn't that sooo cute? Bop me on the head if you get such a lame presentation, but don't do it before you eat, ok? If you do, you might not get dinner or even an appetizer. My pride might be sorely wounded if you act disinterested or even laugh at my sockies. You know Chris Evert would love to have a pair of these? She'd probably would have really appreciated two or four back in the day when she wore the machine-made ones on the tennis courts. Now of course that she's married to Greg Norman, she doesn't care a whit about foot comfort on the court except when she's padding around the house late at night nibbling or watching "Dancing With the Stars" (I don't know if she really does this; I'm just imagining.)
Do you think if I made a pair for Rachel Ray, she'd wear them on her show? Seriously. (For those of you who don't like this woman, skip this part.) I thought about sewing her a surplice-wrap top (think the popular Kwik Sew pattern), but I don't know her measurements. I might have to do a FBA (I don't need to do one myself - I'm in the small-bust club). She looks a little short-waisted too. Would her public relations staff give me her measurements if I asked or would they just consider me a wacko? Or could I just get away with asking for her foot size without people thinking I have a foot fetish? But would she show her new socks with gusto pre-cooking on her show? I can't see that. But a top! That would hog the show big time, especially is she spilled some pesto sauce on it at some point. Then it would end up as a clip on the People Magazine funny moments on TV site. But it would be a complete disaster if my handiwork didn't fit right or looked mousy. What's the point of making something that just gets tossed in the Salvation Army donation pile? Pointless, I say.
Really. I'm better off making anklet socks for friends and family who I can actually give to in person. Watch their eyes light up in delight (I hope) and appreciation (they better, or take my knitted loveliness back faster than Batman can fly to the moon.) Now would I make socks for a man. Maybe. But not my brothers - not one of the seven. They wouldn't even put them on unless they were chained to a hospital bed. Then they might. So I'm not even going to go to the Socks for Men department right now. It might be a long while if I ever do. Let's just master the gusset first, ok? I'm going to go order my yarn for Knitpicks. Impatiently wait for my order to arrive in the slow-cooker mail, then go eat at the family household, and then bother the matriarch. I can't knit on an empty stomach or I might go poke someone's brown eye out with a double-pointed needle. Gosh, writing about food made me hungry. Oddly enough, it didn't exacerbate my desire to knit.
* The bag you see above? I crocheted that on a silk shantung lining from Tilli Tomas, which I can't find online anymore. Next time, I'd use more yarn and crochet a little looser, so the bag wouldn't look so pointy...