Sometimes I am an idiot knitter. The wonderful thing about socks though is that it doesn’t really matter. I am am wearing these as I type, and my feet are warm and comfortable.
I am not concerned that the toes of these socks do not match – the problems with their asymmetry run far deeper than that.
Look at the number of ribs on the foot of the right sock, and then compare to the left.
But it gets worse.
Look at the classy way that I picked up stitches on the right foot:
Halfway down the flap I apparently decided to pick up a completely different stitch than previously. The pretty ridge just disappears somewhere in the pale pink stripe.
How did the frankensocks arise? I’m pretty sure that when I cast on the first sock I intended to make the oak ribbed sock from Knitting Vintage Socks, but at some stage, through the intervention of the small people who share my house, the pattern (photocopied from the book and shoved into a project bag) disappeared. So I copied the pattern again, except I didn’t. I copied the yarrow ribbed sock.
I didn’t notice my error until I was on the plane to Vietnam. It was a bit puzzling, the way that the second sock was looking nothing like the first, and it took me a while to figure out where I had gone wrong. When I realised my error, I was of course, far away from my copy of Knitting Vintage Socks, and had to try to reverse engineer the socks from observation. As you can see, reverse engineering if not a great part of my skill set.
I still love the yarn (which is lucky, because I still have, ahem, a fair amount of it) and will wear the socks a lot. Let’s just say that these are not my competition socks!