Oh Frabjous Day!

This evening I was cordially invited to the abode of a dear friend to indulge in some delectable supper and at long last enjoy the last episodes of Veronica Mars.

During this nearly infinite stretch of time I industriously knitted on my Conwy socks from the tome Knitting On the Road. After what seemed like an age, I completed the last stitches of the second sock and dutifully kitchenered the toe. This project has been a never-ending toil, beginning nearly a year ago and culminating tonight with the hard work of many months.



Understandably, I was overjoyed by this spectacular end to such an ordeal, and squealed with joy while donning said garments and photographing the entire display. Almost immediately, however, I was gripped with the ennui that can only befall one who has nothing to knit.

I gnashed my teeth and threw my hands about wildly in knitting motions until my gracious hostess offered me some of her cast off yarn, with which I proceeded to undertake the construction of a diminutive sock.

The midnight hour came presently and I was forced to don my shoes and hasten to my own quarters, from where I write this stirring narrative.