an object lesson with possibly gross pictures

Suppose that you've been knitting socks all summer. And then, one week, you're just all socked out. So you knit something else for a while.

But then, one night as you're watching your Psych dvds, you say to yourself, "I WANT TO KNIT A SOCK." So you pull out your needles and yarn and set to, generating about an inch of a toe before heading to bed. You toss the project to the floor as you stretch and yawn, and you go upstairs and have a good night's sleep.

The next morning, you drag yourself down the stairs, and as you're lumbering toward the kitchen you see that your cat might have urped a hairball on the couch. As you stumble toward the couch to investigate, you feel a sudden indescribable pain in the ball of your foot between your second and third toes. And as you pick your foot up to see just what in the heck that was, you realize that your sock-to-be seems to be making the trip too. And then you see that the reason you're getting a close-up of your sock is that it has become attached to your foot thanks to one size 1 aluminum double-pointed needle.

the defendant; Mei Flower vs. the Needle

You scream out a curse and yank the needle from your foot, only to let loose what can only be described as a waterfall of blood.

Carefully walking on your heel, you leave a trail of blood drops in your wake that even the greenest of CSIs could follow.

exhibit A; Mei Flower vs. the Needle

You bleed all over the carpet,

exhibit B

then the kitchen linoleum,

exhibit C

and then one of your good towels.

exhibit D

Your toes are stained and feel as though they've just walked through a giant mud puddle.

You wrap the towel around your foot and you angrily step-heel your way through the living room, only to stop short at the stairs, because how in the world are you supposed to climb them? You finally lay down on the staircase and pull yourself up, step by step, with your pitiful spaghetti arms (you vow to start lifting weights).

You manage to get into the shower, shuddering slightly as you watch your life's blood swirl around your feet and into the drain. (You didn't know the foot had so much blood.)

Somehow you manage to get ready for school, but then you have to put your shoes on--because it's in the dress code--so you pad your holey foot with six bandaids and slip on your loosest and most comfortable sandals.

You've spent so much time babying and doctoring yourself that you leave five minutes later than usual, and you're so freaked out that you forget your lunch and then you have to eat the school food, which just makes you THAT MUCH MADDER.

You convince yourself, throughout the day, that you've poked a nerve, or stabbed a bone, or that your foot will get gangrene and you'll have to have it amputated. By the end of the day, you're limping and wondering if it's worth the $50 co-pay to go to the emergency room.

You talk yourself out of medical care, but once you get home, you plop on the couch and refuse to move for the next six hours. And when you DO move, you do it slowly and deliberately and look like an old osteoporosic bag/cat lady.

You spend hours contemplating both your feet, examining your injured appendage for signs of swelling or red streaks. You take pictures of the bottom of your foot, and have a fit of the vapors when you realize how ugly it is.

the plaintiff; Mei Flower vs. the Needle

You document the entire thing for your blog, because what else can you do, and you wonder where you put your walking cast that you wore the last time you broke your foot.

Worst of all, your newly-returned sock-knitting mojo has disappeared, maybe forever, all because you are a lazy dumbass who can't spare a few seconds to put your knitting in its proper place.

I hope you've learned your lesson.


Marsha said...

As an anthropologist, I've heard plenty of "war stories" from my colleagues: tales of getting medivac'd out of a remote Philippine jungle, accounts of interesting culinary adventures, and far more descriptions of malarial attacks than I can count. I haven't quite come across the same phenomenon among my knitting colleagues--until now.

Sure, occasionally you hear a heartbroken tale about ripping back a gazillion rows or even about a feline massacre of something on the needles.

But this story...wow...it really is a knitting war story.

(Hope your foot is doing all right. And don't let a puncture wound and some bloodstains sap your mojo--there are plenty of handknit socks still in your future!)

Mei said...

Hee! I hadn't thought of it as a war story, but I guess I did do battle with the enemy ...

Nicole said...

Yikes! That's quite the tale of woe.

I do hope you didn't bleed on the sock-in-progress...


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