So I’m knitting along on the other BSJ, a few rows past the inc-10 at row 58, and notice a hole. This is not like the last time I noticed a hole, which was when I was nearly daft with finishing the thing and realized it was supposed to be there because it was a buttonhole I made on purpose. This was an untwisted M1. I picked up the stitch, but in my counting haze, forgot to knit it through the back loop. It left a very obvious hole in the middle of my garter stitch perfection.
My husband’s grandmother, who informed me last summer that she was taught never to leave a mistake in her knitting, would be very pleased to hear how that hole niggled at me. At the time, I pooh-poohed. I’d made a mistake in a lace scarf that I gave my sister, and insisted it would never be noticed. She was being stuffy, I thought. I’d ignore this little teeny hole. It would be too much trouble to be worth fixing. Finshed the row, turned, started knitting back. Looked at the hole some more. Well, I could fix it, couldn’t I? Drop the ladder and fix it? Then there wouldn’t be a hole and I could go on and pretend the whole thing never happened. It wouldn’t show at all. I’m a drop-and-ladder ninja on stockinette. I got out my crochet hooks. I’d fix that up easy-peasy.
Well. An hour later, after several times splitting the yarn, dropping the twist, hooking the stitches backward so they v’d when they should have purl bumped, I gave right the hell up and ripped six rows back, picked up all 114 stitches, and started again. And now there will not be a 5-mm hole in the back of a baby sweater, to be worn by a child who would have been lying on top of that hole for the entire time he wears the thing. Perfection in small things, perfection in all things. I’d call up my husband’s grandmother and tell her, but I can’t bear to give her the satisfaction. Someday, she will know her triumph–I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of thing St. Peter tells you right off when you’re at the pearly gates–and that will do.
Tonight, I start at the same place where I was when I ripped back last night. It took me the rest of the evening to get back there again.