That's what the Yarn gods are saying to me today as they wag their fingers at me and my sad pair of deflated, shrunken, felted, £9.99-and-two-weeks-of-knitting socks. Told you so.
There's a normal, healthy sock in the same yarn right behind them, for comparison. Big sock Good, tiny felted sockettes, Bad. The yarn gods had it in for me the moment I pledged never to hand-wash my knitted socks. It went well to begin with: a carefully selected 30 degree wash and a pillowcase, and I was laughing when they came out OK. "Bwahahahah! Stuff you, handwash only yarn!" I cried in a final act of hubris. Well, next time to wash them came along, and I forgot the pillowcase. And then I wasn't concentrating and after getting them out of the washer they were bundled with the rest of the washing, straight into the - gasp -TUMBLE DRIER. Anyone have any ideas what to do with them now? Answers on a felted postcard.
In other news:
Spinning. Here's my attempt to stab the fabled yarn gods in the eye with some spinning! There's my first go at spinning roving, there on the bobbin, and the yarn plied against itself is on the right. I've only had the wheel since Sunday, and after a lot of swearing and persistence I finally came up with that little lot. I don't think you'd want to knit anything with it. Perhaps a tea cosy. Something where you won't be bothered by the weird bobbles and bits of dried grass that somehow worked their way in there. I tell you, dried grass yarn, it's the future, I've seen it!
Later on I'll be spinning around with this yummy stuff from Fyberspates, colourway 'Tooty Fruity':
What could possibly go wrong...?