Does anyone ever get to learn a lesson the easy way?
I gave my mom a pair of socks that I made when she visited me last Summer and she loved them so much that she asked for another pair for Christmas. They turned out quite lovely, if I do say so myself:
She absolutely loved them, as she should since they are pretty gorgeous socks. So now I like to knit socks for my mom, I guess. I tell her that her next pair will be her birthday gift in April. So we go to the yarn store and I tell her to pick out the yarn that she wants. She knows nothing about yarn, so I’m thinking I can steer her in the right direction. I’m feeling pretty confident that she’s going to go for the nice blue Claudia’s, or maybe the blue and purple Koigu. She picks up the most awful color of Crystal Palace Taos ever. This one I can handle – Taos felts if you so much as look at it, obviously not a good choice for socks. Moving on. She picks up some rainbow colored Mountain Colors Bearfoot. Okay, not colors I would choose, but I can handle that. We head back up to the front of the store to pay.
On our way to the register she sees It. Berroco Sox Metallic. She nearly dies of excitement upon learning that she can have “blink blink socks”. I gently remind her that the phrase is “bling bling” and quicken my pace towards the register, Bearfoot still in hand. She’s not following. She wants the blink blink socks. And this time I can’t even lie to her about it because the yarn says “Sox” right on it (damn you, Berroco). I trudge back, put the Bearfoot away, and grab the blue and green Metallic Sox, thinking that at least it’s a nearly tolerable color. As my hand grasps the yarn I immediately want to recoil in horror. I wasn’t aware that they were able to spin sandpaper into yarn, but apparently they’ve found a way. She doesn’t want that color. She wants the red, pink, and gray one. She wants the one that looks like a mistake, like if you dyed it yourself at home you’d just throw it out and cut your losses, not even worth the trouble of overdyeing. But I pick it up anyway, because I love my mom. I paid money for that yarn and I brought it home with me. Really, I love my mom. And I will keep on reminding myself of that through every torturous stitch and every agonizing color change until the socks are finished and I can mail them to her, along with the leftover yarn, and forget that such a monstrosity ever resided in my knitting bag.
Lesson learned: never let your mother choose the yarn.