And then it happened… my needle slipped, and fell. I heard the “clunk” and looked down at the deck. No needle. “It couldn’t be…” I told myself, looking at the cracks on the deck. And then I spotted it. My needle. In the dirt. Under the deck.
I looked up at at my other 3 needles, then my pattern, then back down at my fallen needle. I grabbed some yarn and a paper clip and tried my best.
45 minutes go by, and nothing. By then my sister and her husband had arrived for Easter dinner, and were watching me on my knees looking through the cracks of the deck. I started to tear up. “I… I lost my needle.”
They told me it was ok, we could get more tomorrow. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was so upset. My BIL (who is a nurse) then took over. Not even 10 minutes later, he had it.
I was so happy, and told him he deserves a medal for “best extraction.” I’m now done the tail, and I must say this pattern is driving me mad. So many times I have yelled out “Curse you Perry the Platypus!” as well as yelled curses out at poor Perry the Platypus.
I almost want to quit the damn thing. So many mistakes, little things gone wrong and just overall pattern confusion. It's probably worse because I have a cold but good lord...
It started out as a gorgeous day. The sun was shining, and I thought to myself what a perfect day to sit outside and knit. I grabbed my wip and sat on the back deck. I was pretty proud of myself, I was knitting along so well, and fast! Look at me go, on dpn’s too! I was almost done the tail.