merde

I spent my nice, long weekend watching dubbed cowboy movies (John Wayne speaking French!) and piecing together That Goddamn Neverending Sweater. I'd started knitting a purple version of Stitch 'n' Bitch's Peppermint Twist sweater in June, and after 8 months of endless knitting on miniscule #2 needles, teaching myself purling, increasing, decreasing, rib stitch, fake grafting and mattress stitch, I was done. I just had to put it all on circular needles and whip up some ribbing for the neck line. It was beautiful. It looked just like the photo in the book. Full of righteous grrl power. Am RiotGrrrl Knitting Queen! Bow and tremble before me, mortals! Don't make me stab you with my knitting needles!
Decided to try it on before adding the ribbed neckline. Picture me hopping around the bathroom, with the TGNS stuck on my head, grunting and tugging and trying not to rip the newly-stitched side seams. Not that I'm worried. It's supposed to be form-fitting. And it's still adjusting to being off the needles; has to be broken in a bit. Yeah, that's it.
I finally get it down over my head. It's too small. IT'S TOO FUCKING SMALL!!! Well, actually it fits just fine, if I decide breathing is optional, and if I don't mind my arms hanging slightly akimbo because the shoulders are too tight.
I find myself starting to giggle somewhat hysterically, not only because I look ridiculous, but because my other option is to start crying and stab myself in the neck with said #2 needles. I realize I can't move my arms well enough to pull it back over my head. I have spent the last 8 months knitting a full body version of Chinese handcuffs. A straight-jacket in purple-striped stockinette stitch. I have to cut myself out of my own goddamn sweater. I'm taking a scissors to the seams I spent all weekend sewing, thinking how my life, at the moment, totally resembles a humiliating scene in a Hugh Grant farce, except I lack the charming accent and fail to get the girl in the end.

Clearly, knitting is a Tool of the Patriarchy, like high heeled shoes and pole-dancing, and must be done away with if a real revolution is to happen. I think I'll take up some manly, butch hobby like kickboxing or shooting beer cans.