Still not speaking...

So, I'm on-line looking at some regular blogs I lurk upon, and I'm like "Cha, she hasn't updated in, like, a week, totally." And then, I'm all, "Oh, yah, I, like, totally have my very own neglected blog. Like, DUH." Thus, I blog.

RE: the title of today's post. The Sartene and I are not speaking. While attempting some car-knitting a la the Skinny Rabbit, I made a grievous error. This pattern has some yarning over (or is it yarn overing?) and I am not so bright as to be able to talk to my mom AND keep up with a whopping 5 stitch yarn over pattern that's only done every other row (tragic, n'est-ce pas?). I am always surprised to see how much wonk one little stitch can inflict upon a hand-knit garment. Needless to say, since this is going on MY back, and not that of a 2 year old, I want it near perfect. Which led me to frog a full 3 inches of fully functional yet horribly awry Greek cotton. That was one week ago tomorrow. Still can't look at it.

In the meantime, the baby bolero is cruising right along. An exclusive knitting tip from The Qute One: looking to save some dough? Just knit smaller than pattern gauge. Works great. Seriously though, I'm only about 2 st per 10 cm smaller than pattern gauge, and since the pattern is for "1-2 years," I'm safe. Truly, I should be done with the bolero pieces, they should be blocking, and I should be dreading picking up a zillion little stitches for the ribbed trim. But, in my defense, between work and a big nasty business class project, I haven't had time. So, that's that.

An announcement before I sign off, my wonderful man may be joining the illustrious ranks of the QTPurl2T readership! I'm not sure he'll make it very far, all this talk of knitting. He gets quite enough on his own time, I'll tell you. He plays along, scowling in righteous indignation when some project has insulted me, and laughing at all the right spots when I blab on about my SnB meetings. He will even go into yarn shops, and has yet to hurry me out of one! That's right. He goes inside, and pretends to not be desperately yearning for one last glimpse of the outside world before he dies of boredom. He's a keeper. Don't get any ideas, I'm holding on tight!