Irony, you whore

So, once upon a time, the manager at the LYS put out a call for pattern testers for a book of hers. Sure, I emailed her, signing up. It's a book of objects small-by-necessity, thus, it shouldn't take long to knit these things up, right?

Wrooooong.

The pattern I tested had been edited into a shell of its former trig and sensible self. C. had written a brilliant, straightforward pattern, which the editors had then fubared into an unholy incomprehenislbe nightmare. So I knit it once, it came out like ass, I had to knit it again, in this damn variegated yarn so I had to start pulling yarn from elsewhere in the skein so it would match up, all the while cursing and swearing because i-fuckin-rony, it was for a purse. Me. Knitting a purse. As anyone who knows me can tell you, the concept of wench ever willfully acquiring- much less making with her own two hands- a purse is a sign of the apocalypse. (Which is not to say I will not someday make, say, the farmer's market bag, or zeeby's bag. These are bags, useful for toting larger objects. They are not purses. Still, they apparently tread too close to the purse line, as I have yet to make something as damn easy as a bag)

Today I was in the midst of work hell, pleasantly letting myself think about casting on a gauge swatch for the clapotis (survey says: size 8s for the 100purewool hand dyed merino turns a gorgeous yarn into tight, inflexible cardboard. I'm levelling up to 10s for this), when the phone rang. C breathlessly explained new editor, new publisher, they've asked her to add in a few more garmenty patterns, and she needs people to knit these things up fast and she thought of me and she'll swap me yarn and pretty please and she's so sorry she accidentally called my husband's cell first and he said he could pick up the yarn and pattern at the store tomorrow for me if I said yes.

Sure. I said, thinking of the pleasantness of banging out a wee sweater, knowing it'd likely be donated to the women and children's shelter the store supports when all was said and done. Granted, it means I shouldn't cast on the Clapotis till next week. How big are we talking, what are the skills involved, when do you need it by. Sept 4, 700 yards of worsted weight, knitting in the round, yarnovers. And then, the words that put a chill into my heart.

Oh you'll love it, she said. It's a straightforward flippy little....skirt.