I knitted one red sock. It wasn’t too bad… ok ok, it was terrible. It had more holes than swiss cheese after a day in a mouse house and it didn’t really fit right, but I was really quite proud of it. As soon as I finished it I took it to my mom who, by this time, had made plenty of socks of her own and I did a little fashion show of my first sock. My mom looked at the sock, said that it was cute, and then started tearing it out! What did she have against my sock?? Sure it had problems, but what first sock doesn’t? I have never tried to knit another sock because I can’t guarantee its safety against my vicious sock destroying mother!
I don’t think that I ever really got over it. I still to this day can’t bring myself to even cast on for a sock, especially with red yarn.
This is all that’s left of my sock.
