Insert your favorite swear word or inventive curse here
Well, all I can say is: “____”. I spent all weekend working on the Kilmanjaro Kat Shawl, and got to the final charted row before the edging, and found my stitch count is off by at least 4 stitches per side. Talk about frustrating.
As I was working on the border, I broke it down into each of the pattern repeats, and separated each repeat with markers. I was even counting my stitches on the plain knit rows. But, somewhere, somehow, I screwed up royally.
So, the last thing I did before I went to bed last night was to put the entire thing on waste yarn, so that I can pin it out, and try and find where my mistakes are. I really don’t want to have to rip out the whole damn border, but if I can’t figure out where I messed up, then that’s what I’ll probably need to do.
I know that in one or two rounds, I had been off by a stitch (forgetting a YO, or adding one in where I wasn’t supposed to), so I corrected it on the next round and my stitch counts and the patterning were correct, but how I’m off by this many stitches is just confusing.
Pray to the pagan gods of lace knitting, or to whomever you prefer, that I can find and fix my errors without having to rip out too much of the border. Otherwise, you’ll be hearing some blood curdling screams from Northern Virginia tonight.
In an update to our fiasco of a dinner Friday night, TOH called the restaurant to complain, and the manager knew exactly who he was. “Nothing went right with your dinner, did it sir?” So, he said to make sure we asked for him directly the next time we come in, so that he can make it right for us. We’ll see. I’m kind of soured by the whole experience at the moment.
Totally unrelated, you’ve got to love a man who can admit he’s wrong. TOH and I have been having this quibble (argument is too strong a word) about a book of stamps I gave him. He kept swearing that he brought them home, and I was positive that he’d left them in his desk at work. He thought I was insane, and I thought he was just refusing to admit that he’d lost them. Guess who called me this morning to admit that he was wrong, and that the book of stamps had been hiding in his desk the whole time? Silly thing, but it’s nice to hear “You’re right, honey,” every now and then.
As another totally unrelated aside, the Jiffy Lube people should not be allowed to clean your car windows when changing your oil. Granted, my windows weren’t all that clean to begin with, but now they look like they’ve been given a light coating of Vaseline. Argh.