True Story

Yesterday it was cold enough that I felt it necessary to wear socks (a sign of old age, as far as I'm concerned*) and since I haven't worn socks in months, all of my hand-made socks were clean. I chose to wear a sweater I'd made, and picked out pink socks to go with it. These were recently finished, and I'd not worn them before (at least not in shoes), but they were in the drawer, so I must have washed them.

The day progressed as uneventful as any. When I got home, I immediately took off my shoes, as is my wont, and as I walked from my bedroom (where I TRY to deposit my shoes) to the living room, I felt something in my sock, shaking around as I walked. I figured it was probably a little pebble or something; these things happen. I pulled off the sock, reached inside, and pulled out TWO STITCH MARKERS. And an un-woven tail. Oops. Maybe I didn't wash them.

Lesson learned: Stitch markers inside your socks aren't as uncomfortable as you would think.

*I spent my high school years in South Dakota, wearing Keds and no socks most of the winter, with no complaints. Now I live in St. Louis, and wear socks. But I do wear flip-flops for as much of the year as I can, and if it were socially acceptable and the world wasn't paved, I would go barefoot.