Ever since my first forays into sock-knitting, I can't seem to stop. In a nod to my adult version of a flighty attention span, I like to have a variety of projects going at any given time (the same goes for books being read--several on hand for whatever mood I happen to be in). As I speak, I have recently worked on a duck, a cabled scarf, this sock, and a blanket.
Each requires separate expenditures. However, the sock is most likely to be on my person, as it's small and the pattern is pretty burned in my mind, requiring little attention to what my hands are doing.
As such, at last night's Silver Hawks game, my fingers found themselves itching to be moving as I followed the progress on the field. I felt that I needed to immortalize its presence at the Cove, so a picture was quickly taken, much to the confusion -- and, quite likely, the chagrin -- of my husband.
If my sock is fortunate to make other such debuts to society, I will try to catalog them, taking after the Yarn Harlot's fashion of doing so. For those who side with my husband with your mounting worry, just avert your eyes as such posts come along and quietly repeat to yourself, "This too shall pass."