In my cups

First, thank you for all the sympathy, humor and boobie jokes. You all are awfully nice. And it honestly takes a lot of the sting out of doing something that spectacularly stupid if I can make other people laugh. So thank you!

And no, I have not frogged the rest of Wicked, nor have I restarted it. It’s actually wadded up in a bag next to my couch, where I can cast disparaging glances at it as I walk by. I like to think it feels my disapproval through the plastic bag and will behave itself better next time, whenever next time may be. Though I may need to step up from "disparaging glances" to "carefully aimed swift kicks" to get my point across.

And, though sorely tempted, I have not in fact been drinking this whole time.

I’ve actually been knitting.

Fittingly enough, I recently finished a Queen of Cups sock.



I thought this lace pattern was really interesting and different. Not floral or leafy or geometric. More like, well, wine glasses. And I do love me some wine. Plus, I worried that something more floral would look like tarty black panty lace. Which is fine for panties, don't get me wrong, but not so good for socks.



I realize that this sock’s complexity and loveliness is in no way represented by these ass-tastic pictures. But black yarn doesn’t photograph well, especially at the tail end of a gloomy November day.

You won’t be seeing better shots from me though, because this sock has been sent to a fellow knitter (the talented and funny, if awfully fond of dark yarn, Specs) who will knit its mate.

I'm just thrilled that she liked it and hope she has as much fun knitting it as I did! 'Cause I actually didn't mind knitting a black sock one bit.

The only problem is that TB saw me working on it and is now agitating for black socks of his own!