This snowflake yarn is cracking me up. It’s a complete hoot. Who ever wrote the pattern is hysterical too…I mean I’m *this* close to calling Sirdar and finding out who writes the snowflake patterns just so I can have them over for a beer. I bet they’re more fun than a barrel full of monkeys. (By the way…has anybody ever checked to see if a barrel full of monkeys is actually fun?)
Look at this.

One of those is the front, the other…the reverse, how many rows, or at what gauge is part of the hilarity of snowflake. Now here’s the funny part (I know, you’re laughing already). The instructions actually say things like “with right side facing” …get it? The rapier wit? Who would know what the right side is? How could you tell? My face hurts from smiling. Check this one “Keeping continuity of pattern” There’s a pattern! See what I mean? It’s irony, the highest form of comedy, balanced yet unreconciled opposites. The writer asks you to keep the continuity of the pattern to achieve success, yet there the pattern is obscured from us . I would never expect a knitting pattern to be such a fountain of literary example. How about “pick up and knit 12 sts evenly along side of neck”! Classic! irony, incongruity, absurdity, surrealism…. all classic forms of humour. What a gas!
I just sat here last night laughing out loud as I knit.

That’s the back and most of a sleeve. I knit them out of order because I find sleeves depressing. I know I’m not alone. If I don’t do this I knit vests. That probably wouldn’t be the case with this sweater though, I mean, really…I just want the laughter to never die.
I’m leaving now, despite the very big fun that is to be had in my very own knitting chair, I’m going on a hunt for more of the tank yarn. I doubt that’s going to be as funny, but what the heck. When I get back, I’m going to rip my entire house apart, inch by inch because it’s been a week and I still can’t find Sam’s glasses. I’ve looked in all the normal places, I’ve looked in all the abnormal places. I’ve moved furniture, looked down the cracks in the couch, in the laundry basket beside Sam’s bed. I’ve just about lost my mind trying to find them. I’m delirious. I’m starting to be obsessed. No matter where I go or what I do in the house I’m looking for the glasses. They have to be here somewhere. Any ideas?