Knitters of socks know this truth - ours is an addictive hobby! To knit socks means to take a vacation from sweaters and shawls and scarves and the like - a calculated risk because we KNOW new patterns will emerge while we are hunched over our impossibly tiny dpn's, but we DON'T. CARE. We MUST finish these little gems that will cover our feet in mournfully GORGEOUS fiber. Herein lies the problem. Indie dyers. They are producing sock weight yarns that are TO DIE FOR. Whether they are offering cashmere or milk or soy or merino blends, it hardly matters. Our ears perk up when they list their latest wonders, and we must have some. We will devour and savour these fibers - postponing the car payment, the rent. Insanity abounds. In a fit of compassion, I turn off the computer. The sock clubs will not wither without me... the socks camps will not fold for want of my admission cheque.
But how can you give something so beautiful the Silent Treatment?
This one came with a tiny potpourri AND a packet of Eucalan for its bath!!!! And some of its proceeds will go to Japanese Relief. So it's all good. Right?
But ... right behind it came another - one with an insect name ...