You’re a Bad, Bad Mitten

Dear Mitten,

I want you to sit in the project bag for a while and think about what you’ve done.

I started out with the right number of stitches when I cast you on. How, then, did you end up four stitches short? Did those four stitches run out for aspirin and tampons in the middle of the night and never come back? You’re supposed to tell me these things.

Oh I suppose you were trying to tell me. Hinted it. But you didn’t try hard enough. You let me go on knitting you for hours in ignorance, thinking I had all the stitches accounted for.

Is this sibling rivalry? Is it just that you can’t bear to be thought of as the “same” as your sister, mitten number one? Get over yourself. You’re a mitten. Just be happy one of you is a righty and one is a lefty. You have thumbs on opposite sides. That’s all the individuality you need.

I knew you looked just a little more slender than your sister, mitten number one. But it wasn’t pronounced. I figured you were just a little different than your sister, made out of slightly more slender stuff. That’s what happens sometimes when you knit with hand-spun yarn.  I was prepared to be understanding. I was prepared to help you and your sister work together, do a little extra coaching (read: blocking) so that you could still play as a team.  But all the time I was thinking about how to help you, you were sitting there laughing at me. In stitches, in fact.

Well you’ve won. You got me. Very clever.

So now you’re going to sit in the corner for a while and think about what you’ve done. You’re going to think about the meaning of teamwork. Your’e going to think about how important it is to be part of a matched set. It’s a privilege, not a burden.

You’re going to sit in that corner, and you’ll sit there until you’re ready to come out and be frogged. I don’t care  if it takes until Thanksgiving. And if you get jealous of my other knitting projects just remember, you could have been a FO too, if you’d cooperated.  As it is, you’re just a bundle of sticks and yarn. Only without the sticks, because I need those for another project.

Yes that’s right, I’m taking your sticks away.


  1. “Yes that’s right, I’m taking your sticks away”! You rock my socks. Thanks for the giggle this morning. And reminding me that last winter I lost my mittens and now must pick out a new pair to make…

  2. Man. I hate it when that happens. I’ve got a couple hiding in my closet. One has been there for at least five years. I get it out about once a year, look at it and put it back. It’ll come in handy if I ever break a leg.

    • No chance! If those stitches are wiley enough to convert themselves to digital format, cross the interwebs, convert back to physical form and claw their way into one of your projects then there’s no way I’m letting them back into my home. No telling what else they can do.

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