I used to think knit socks were kind of silly. Too thick, for sure. And slouchy. My grandmother used to keep hers up with a rubber band around her ankle. I certainly didn’t want to wear them. Why would I knit something I didn’t want to wear?
And then I got my first pair. And they were wonderful. Not too thick. Not slouchy. Pretty in a way I never really knew socks could be. Then I got a few more pairs, all gifted to me by my mother. I wore almost nothing but knitting socks this past winter, and my toes have never been warmer despite the cheap boots I didn’t splurge on and the record breaking cold Toronto experienced.
So, I tried my hand at making me own. That pair made a brief appearance here on the blog last March but they didn’t get finished until December. It’s this thing called ‘second sock syndrome’. Finishing the first sock is exciting. Even just starting the second one is one of the most boring ventures in comparison.
Of course, having a finished pair is pretty worth it.
My second pair of socks only took me about a month and a half by comparison. Sock knitting is addicting, it turns out, addicting enough to defeat second sock syndrome.
It is surprisingly difficult to take pictures of ones own feet.