Guess what the very first sweater I ever knit has become? Umm. I think the most descriptive term would be “felt bolero.”
It was already somewhat fulled before last night, since my mother, in her infinite wisdom, had said: “I can shrink that up for you a little” when I complained about its size.
(What, you’re going to tell a newbie knitter to rip out an entire sweater and knit it smaller?)
Years later, looking at it in my closet, and sighing because it just wasn’t as wearable as I’d like it to be with the semi-shrinkage, I snipped off the contrast color trim and pulled it off. Fortunately, this was crazy easy to do since the stitches were all felty. I got back to live stitches on all edges, put them on non-felting waste yarn and put it in the washer.
And that’s when I made the Big Dumb.
I walked away.
Me! Felt freak. Me, who’s committed more Cascade 220 to a shrinky-dink existence than most. Yes, readers, I walked away…because I was tired.
Tired = when all the really good knitting accidents happen, eh?
So now it’s a bolero with live stitches on the edges. I can get it on, but it makes me look like I’m wearing a corset-style dirndl top. My immediate plans are to ignore it until it doesn’t make me sad anymore and then play around and make it into something cool one of my smaller friends can wear.
Goodbye, grey cardigan.
(Oh sure, looking at it NOW I could have fixed it with no motherly involvement, but that was then…)