The Island of Misknit Projects

As a child, one of the things I loved most about the December holidays was the special seasonal programming. My sister, brother and I would cross our fingers and hope that Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph wasn't scheduled for a Sunday evening so it didn't conflict with church and we could watch it. I liked both of these shows, but they invoked a bit of terror in me. I still get that feeling in the pit of my stomach when Frosty is being pursued by the evil magician looking for his hat or the Abominable Snowman is chasing Rudolph and Harvey, the Elf.

One of the things I liked about Rudolph was how all the toys on the Island of Misfit Toys found a home, Harvey got to be a dentist, and Rudolph got to pull Santa's sleigh. All the little outcasts were found to have value because their imperfections saved the day. Beautiful story. Not exactly realistic. My love for these stories has diminished after exposure to high school and the growing realization that life is like high school. We all know that in high school the misfits wind up hanging by their underwear from their lockers. I digress.

As I have been organizing my knitting, I have determined I could populate an island the size of Manhattan with my misknit projects. I would probably not be overestimating when I say that if I got knitters together, we could populate an island the size of Greenland with misknit projects. Knitting a project that goes horribly wrong is a lot like growing up to be a Brazilian Bikini waxer. You didn't make a conscious choice to wax butt and other nether region hair all day, but the money is good and no one was able to talk you out of it. (I know I have just made it on to the Brazilian Bikini Waxers of America's hit list. I have heard they dip you in wax and let it harden before they pull off the wax. Painful, but I am willing to take it so I can bring you the truth.) The same is true for misknit projects. You didn't plan to get stranded on the Island of Misknit Projects, but the knitting was good and no one was able to talk you in to ripping it out until it was too late. Now, none of your knitting friends wants to help you because they want to stay on the plus side of the knitting karmic scales and there is no way to do that after saying, "I told you so!"

So, I will say here what people are afraid to tell you when you look at them with those pitiful eyes and hold up your opus magnus in mohair with a glaring error four rows back, "For the love of god and all that is holy, UNKNIT IT, RIP IT BACK, FROG IT! We will hold your hand and give you a martini once you do. It will be okay. We have tissues. We aren't afraid to see you cry. Honey, no one wants to wear a mohair sweater with a peek-a-boo hole." When you ask the question, "Do you think I should rip it back to my mistake?" The answer is always, always, always yes. Leave it to the experienced (by experienced, I mean anyone but you. They won't be prejudiced by the hours of work and horrific complications of the pattern.) to figure out if it is fixable while you drink a margarita or just the Tequila.

Lest you think that the experienced are above the whole unknit it, rip it back, frog it delusion, I will tell you a story.

A knitter wanted to knit her hubby a cardigan for Christmas. Said knitter found an interesting pattern to go with some stash wool. She loved the color. She loved the way it knit up. The pattern was texturally pleasing. The design simple.

The one thing our lovely knitter did not like about the pattern was the button band - or lack thereof. In an attempt to remedy this glaring omission, brave knitter made calculations and added a knitted in button band. Our knitter knit blithely on and finished the fronts of the cardigan.

As she did the triple needle bind off for the shoulders, she reached a horrible conclusion - the back of hubby's neck was larger than 3 inches across. The artfully sloping V with its snazzy, knitted in button band was all she could have hoped for aesthetically, but completely unwearable by its intended recipient.

Our usually fun and storytelling knitter became unusually quiet. She sat, stared at her misknit project, raised her fist to the sky, and yelled "KAAAAHHHHHNNNN!" Oh, sorry that was Star Trek 2: Wrath of Kahn. What really happened. Our crestfallen knitter sat and stared at her misknit project, uttered a satisfying profanity, bundled up her the object and shoved it into her bag, where it had not seen the light of day until I started organizing my stash. The End.