Strangely, finishing the Footlet was disappointingly ... anticlimactic. There was no pomp and circumstance, no angels singing the Hallelujah chorus, hell, not even an Eye of the Tiger refrain.
I felt cheated.
Like after the last episode of Seinfeld.
Like that feeling after you've ripped through all your Christmas gifts and you happen to look at the tree looking so bare and forlorn. And you realize that it was the anticipation of Christmas that held ever so much more excitement than Christmas Day itself.
And so it was with the Footlet. After two weeks of monogamous knitting, I guess I expected, I dunno, something more substantial. Here she is, all gussied up with ends woven in and top kitchener stitched. But you know, you rinse off all that make-up with some cold cream, and she bears an eerie resemblance to those God-awful peds that my mom forced me to wear as a child, saying she was sure they were "cool." There were so not. But childhood faux pas aside, I have to say that I like the instep and heel lace patterns. The padded sole, on the other hand, was a female dog. A HUGE female dog, mind you, maybe of Saint Bernard proportions. And you know what? It ain't even all that padded!!! They don't feel that different to me than any other knit pair of socks. I expected cush-y, Nike Air-esque goodness. But no, nothing of the sort here. It's probably my fault, too. I'm sure my yarn choice had everything to do with that. Hell, it probably explicity stated at the end of the pattern directions not to use Knit Picks Dancing, but maybe I couldn't see it because my eyes were permanently crossed after reading and re-reading that tedious sole pattern at ungodly hours of the night.
Ahem, ahem. *cough* Okay, okay, get it together, I promise to stop whining now. (Wine? Now there's a solution for this mess that I hadn't thought of) The recipient of these Christmas Footlets is a totally generous, deserving, wonderful person who also doesn't knit. Who will never appreciate 2 weeks of monogamous knitting for practically non-existent padding, but I'm not whining. I know I also said no SSS, but I think casting on for Footlet 2 would be like making another sequel to Rocky. You gotta know when to let it go. ("....know when to fold up, know when to walk away, know when to run....") I need to attend some serious Attitude Boot Camp first.
And besides, Brother Bossy Boots has been pestering and nagging me for socks (read: simple! child-sized! ribbing-only!) for his gymnastics class He is aptly named, after all.